


The End is Only The Beginning

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Abduction, Ajay is a forced captive, Blackmail, Drugs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Execution, Forced enslavement, Friends to Enemies, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Sabal doesn't like letting go whats his, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Trauma, hostage, prisoner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-25 18:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14384793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: After Sabal takes over as leader of the Golden Path, Ajay realizes his mistakes and fears there is nothing more he can do. He fulfilled his mother's dying wish and returned her to Lakshmana and unknowingly placed another Mohan Ghale in power. The man that Ajay once knew, once cared for and confided in was no longer the man that stood before him. So he did the only thing he was good at, he ran away. Fleeing Kyrat for the states, only, Ajay was soon to understand that there is truly no way to leave Kyrat as it follows him right back to America and continues the inevitable nightmare that he is trapped in.





	1. No Place Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fic for Far Cry 4 and it was a little rough but I wanted to do a post game piece about Ajay and Sabal. Hopefully this turns out as well as I want it to. Please leave a comment below on what you think, I could really use the feedback as I am not at all used to writing with these characters. Also, I apologize for the haste of the first chapter. The next chapter will be much better and more in depth. I just needed to clear a large chunk of time quickly.

Kyrat was no longer safe. Which wasn't news to Ajay, with the country being at war and all, but Sabal’s leadership had become twisted. His concerns for the lives of others became biased as he executed innocent frightened civilians for no other reason then because they thought Amita was a better leader. They just wanted the war over but this wasn't the way Ajay wanted things to go. He didn't want to leave the country in such dire straits but he had no other choice. He couldn't rule as King, he just wasn't cut out for it. He didn't want to remain there, under Sabal’s thumb, executing the same people he fought so hard to protect.

 

He had no other choice but to flee. To return to the states. His escape was swift, using some of his inherited resources at the Palace, he recovered his passport and converted as much money as he could before making a break for the border. He paid off a few farmers to help him out and before long, he was headed into India to the nearest airport for a flight home. He had to leave behind his arsenal of weaponry, which he was actually sad to see his kukri and bow go, all of which was left stored in Mohan’s home.

 

The trip back was the easiest part of it all. Fleeing the country was relatively easy as well, at least when compared to his escape from Durgesh. With that in mind, anything was easy. The hard part came when he saw familiar signs and terrain, flying over the states had never felt so daunting to him before. His brain had yet to transition back to the civilian mindset, he feared that in and of itself would be a long process. He was tense in his seat during the landing, his eyes flitting around anxiously as people passed him by. Some were far too close to him for comfort while others were blissfully ignorant in their everyday lives.

 

It was chilling to think of the horrors that could go on in another country, and how at ease those around it were. How easily those atrocities could be carried out without anyone else on the outside caring or making note of the suffering of the people. His mind flitted back to the voicemail Chet Peterson left him on his phone right before the trip. It proved that people were aware of what was happening, just, nobody gave a damn about it. They carried much the same mindset as Pagan and De Pleur. Everyone there was just a bunch of savages that would hopefully wipe each other out. As long as it didn’t interfere with the lives of others. It was these thoughts that made Ajay’s stomach lurch and before he could even get past the baggage claim, he found himself retching up the contents of his stomach in a nearby bathroom.

 

He made arrangements for a rental car and made his way to the nearest hotel. After spending so long driving the dirt terrain of the roads of Kyrat without any designated traffic laws to restrict him, he found driving on a simple highway or even side roads became incredibly stressful. Riling back up that sickening sensation twisting up his stomach, his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly through the entire drive until he finally reached the hotel, to the point that they ached when he finally pried them free. It was then that he decided it was better to stick with taxis or just walking everywhere. He checked into a small single person room with a twin bed and functioning toiletries. It was an odd change from the accommodations in Kyrat, though he will admit, his first move was a nice hot shower and some clean clothes he picked up on the way.

 

He was exhausted from the nearly 18 hour flight, finding he was far too restless and tense to sleep on a plane full of strangers. His eyes constantly sweeping around at the slightest movement or sound. He felt his nerves were beyond frayed at this point and easily dismissed the rest of the world to sleep.

 

Getting back into the swing of civilian life was hard. Actually, he would like to take his words back. It was harder, even more than his escape from Durgesh. Compared to the shit he was going through now, Durgesh was a cakewalk. Sure it wasn’t Rakshasa demons chasing him through old and broken down prison ruins or racing down a mountain side under threat of gunfire or avalanche. Instead he found himself mustering up the courage to go into public places, petrified to leave the safety of his hotel room. He made himself visit a nearby after hours clinic, taking a long taxi ride in the night to the place, knowing there would be very few people to fear. After his extensive stay in Kyrat, he had been subjected to quite the backwoods medicine, after all the drugs and concoctions he was forced into or voluntarily put through, he really needed to make certain it hadn’t left any lasting effects. It wasn’t his first run in with controlled substances and drug paraphernalia but at least the shit he was giving himself when he was a teenager didn’t cause mass hallucinations and prolonged blackouts.

 

The doctor on staff that saw him was startled when he gazed upon his scarred and battered body. His eyes glinted with recognition when he inspected older bullet wounds and some still healing knife wounds that littered his form. He had some scars from burns and quite a few bite marks given to him by Kyrat’s lovable wildlife. What started out as a simple check up became a full on work up inspection as the doctor played a very long ass game of twenty questions that felt more like fifty, by the end he was given a loosely stated clean bill of health, considering his physical shape. He’d have to wait for the results of any blood work or other tests for a few days. The doctor was even kind enough or concerned enough to pass on the name and number for a therapist that specializes in war related cases. It was indirectly mentioned, Ajay didn’t say anything about Kyrat or his ordeal but the doctor knew well enough from the track record littered across his body.

 

He left with the reassurance of Doctor/Patient confidentiality in mind, heading back to his hotel in another taxi. He rarely left the hotel after that, the only times involving his need for food or clean clothing. He shifted from one place to the next, restlessly pacing around the room more hours then he could count. It took awhile for him to start looking for a small rental place and even mustered up enough desire for a job. When it came down to building up his resume, he found he had very little to offer any interested employers other then a low wage position at a fast food joint. It wasn’t that he was above that sort of position but that it wouldn't be appropriate in his current state, though he had some fond memories of his first jobs during high school when he wasn’t out causing trouble and he had quite a few friends back then. They weren’t upstanding citizens, but he thought he could count on them. That was, before the robbery incident, though he couldn’t exactly blame them now since he had far more blood on his hands than he would care to admit. He preferred to keep his distance from them, some weren’t exactly pleased with his choices and the others, he feared for their safety should they get caught up with him again.

 

Ajay found that as the time passed by, it was becoming harder and harder to integrate back into the real world. Not just with society and everyday routine, but just getting his mind back to the states. His nights were plagued with horrific nightmares that had, on more than one occasion, led to staff knocking on his room door at two in the morning to assure that he was alright. At one point, someone even called the police which left Ajay even more shaken up when two officers stood before his door. His mind was still heavily saturated in his dreams of Kyrat, nearly mistaking the police uniforms for Royal Army soldiers. It was a very uncomfortable conversation with the lead officer but they left with a bit of concern for his status and even offered him a trip to the local hospital.

 

After that, he went out the next day and went looking for an apartment or a small little rental place. With the amount of money he brought back from Kyrat, he had no trouble in affording a place, but he was frugal with his spending, keeping it to only the most basic of necessities. He wasn’t certain how long it would be before he could find a stable standing in society. He even considered calling up that therapist the doctor recommended, lying awake late at night and roaming over his options and how likely it was to turn out well. He’d much rather fall off the grid where nobody could find him but that would not take care of his night terrors or the sudden suffocating panic that grips him every time he goes out into public without a weapon on hand.

 

The nights were rife with blood washed landscapes and buildings bathed in fire. In the screams of people echoing in the distance and firm words arguing back and forth in his mind. The thrill of gunshots spiking his body with unbound energy as he raced through the terrain of suffering. He heard his name called out, in different dialects, in different pronunciations. Sabal’s words splitting through his thoughts. _‘Son of Mohan.’_ Followed by Amita’s sharper tone. _‘Hero of the Golden Path.’_ He heard Pagan Min referring to him as the new King and many others calling out to him, crying for help or demanding death.

 

He heard the two commanders arguing back and forth, bickering to the ends of time over drugs and traditions. He would always find himself in the center of all this carnage, standing where the earth is scorched and blood smears his hands, splattered across his face. His dark eyes gazing down at the frightened emerald orbs of a little girl. _“Bhadra.”_ His voice didn’t even sound like his own, foreign to his ears and broken as he watched tears trek down her face. Her hands folded together anxiously, a look of fear and disappointment conflicting features that once used to smile so warmly at him. He reached out to her and she flinched back, away from his touch. He froze, his heart sinking down into his chest. A spray of bullets landed at his feet, startling him, he felt himself slipping away, his feet stumbling backwards until he tumbled over the end of the rocky terraces of the cliff side terrain. Before he knew it, he was falling, his eyes staring up at the mass of black smoke billowing up, the air rushing up all around him.

 

He woke up with a start, his entire body jerking on the bed. The blankets were a coiled mess, wrapped up around his waist, tangled around his feet, a cold sweat settled on his skin, wrought with the heat of the night air and the mugginess that followed. It was nothing like the crisp cold mountain air of Kyrat. He was sluggish as he pushed himself up, bare feet padding across the worn out carpeting of the hotel floor. He made his way through with just a pair of shorts to cover himself, not even bothering with a shirt in the heat of the night as he made his way to the bathroom. The water was a harsher feel to his hands, leaving his skin rough from all the treatment its put through. It didn’t even feel like water against his skin as he splashed his face a few times. _Nothing like the streams and rivers of Kyrat._ He thought to himself, reaching up for a towel to dry his face off.

 

Ajay balled the material up in his hands as he leaned against the cool porcelain surface of the rusty old sink. His eyes gazing up at the stained and worn out wall mirror that had obviously seen better days. The edges were smudged with fingerprints and started to be eaten away with the gathering moisture of the air. He took a long shaky breath trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, his dark orbs casting a glance over the far too familiar scars that littered his body. He knew each very intimately after patching himself up Kyra knows how many times. His thoughts shifted at the knock on his door, startling him with a jump. His hand rushed to his hip, seeking out a weapon that wasn’t there. His fingers curled into tight fists before he eased himself back, telling himself it was either the police again or another poor staff member of the hotel. “I really need to find an apartment.” He mumbled to himself as he went to see who it was.

 

He reached for the door, pausing long enough to remember to grab his jacket from the nearby coat hanger, pulling it on to cover a majority of his injuries and offer a meek bit of modesty as he opened his door. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the shift of the darkness in his hotel room to the dim lighting of the hallway outside. He blinked a few times, fearing his memories were interfering with the reality around him as a familiar pair of blue uniforms stepped up, their golden markings hidden only behind the denim jackets that concealed their origin, obscuring the golden kukris crossing their chests.

 

Ajay couldn’t move fast enough, backing up to shut the door on the two men, they shoved their way in, wedging their foot in the doorway and pushing inside. Ajay rushed towards the inside of his room, hoping to find something he could defend himself with when he felt a sharp pain slammed into the back of his neck, his jacket tugged harshly to jerk him back on unsteady feet. He lost his footing as he turned on the intruders, striking out at them, the sting of his fist meeting the jaw of one made him curse. They both landed on the floor in a clattered heap, grappling to get away, Ajay kicked out with his feet to find leverage. The second member of the Golden Path had already shut and locked the door, offering as look out encase there was anyone coming to investigate the disturbances. A hand pressed firmly over Ajay’s mouth to prevent him from crying for help, the sharp pain in his neck throbbed angrily, his heart hammering against his chest as he sucked in a deep breath. His limbs were growing heavy and sluggish but he fought with everything he had. He heard the second member curse out. “Give him another dose. We need to get out of here fast.” The Nepalese accent was thick, drawing out the words in a slow haste.

 

The member holding him down reached behind themselves, withdrawing a second syringe from a pouch on their belt and driving the little needle into his neck again. They pressed the plunger down, eliciting a sharp pained sound from Ajay. He cursed, his words muffled by the hand over his mouth. He managed to draw away from the grip, landing another strike across the member’s face. An even harder hit was delivered to him in retaliation, sending explosions of white hot pain behind his eyelids. He hissed out, his voice trailing off mid curse, letting it fall, abandoned from his lips before he had a chance. The drugs in his system already doing their job as he was dragged under with the pull of sleep, submerging into the darkness.


	2. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ajay is taken back to Kyrat but the welcoming is far from warm.

It’s cold. The chill that swirls around him, nips at his exposed skin and sends shivers through his body. His flesh is numb to its presence, tight and quivering. There are parts of his body where he can no longer feel the sting of the cold against his skin. He feels groggy and weighed down, his mind still shrouded in darkness. The distant sounds of sirens from the city life was replaced with shouting and far away gunfire that was far too familiar, far too comforting, it terrified him. It takes a surprising amount of effort for him to move, his fingers twitch first, pressed together, barely able to recognize their own touch from the icy presence of those digits. He tries to move them a little more, knuckles stiff, bone grinding with an ache that only the cold could bring out with them. His hands had seen far better days, since coming to Kyrat, they had been broken, battered and bruised far too many times to count and the damage was starting to catch up with him.

 

His head tilts slightly, a small nod as he raised his chin from his chest. Every joint and muscle if stiff, swollen and aching from the same prolonged position. His limbs had submitted to sleep long ago, it has left him feeling heavy and helpless. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore, the numbness stretched up to his lower back and hips, even making a slow ways up his spine. It was a sensation that only added to the dread and panic that kept him idle. A distressed sound left his chest, his eyes opening slowly to survey his surroundings, only to squint up against the lighting of the room. It was dim and dark in places, but his gaze managed to fix on the only light bulb before him. He whimpered, turning his head with a wince, the twinge of pain in his neck making the motion worse.

 

“Welcome back, brother.” The voice was hard, carrying a sharpness often only reserved for Amita. There was only one other time that it had been turned against him with a hard bite of distaste and that was at the coronation of Bhadra. When Sabal forced his back against a wall, metaphorically speaking, and made him choose. Death or quiet servitude. Ajay made his own choice though the option was apparently temporary. He didn’t want to be back in Kyrat. He didn’t want to be here, not like this. Not with Sabal’s voice penetrating his ears and adding to the lost echoes of old ghosts that assaulted his senses.

 

“S...Sab-” His voice was broken by the sharp pain of a coughing fit. His mouth was dry, tongue like sandpaper and feeling far too big for the space it occupied. His throat was rough, ragged over from dehydration. Lips cracked, parted in a sharp painful cough, his ribs ache, throbbing with the rest of him. The side of his face carried the same sharp pain as his jaw moved. His mind vaguely remembered the blow he received from the Golden Path soldiers that stormed his room. He licked his lips, blood swelling up to gloss over his taste buds, something he could very well do without.

 

Fingers gripped his jaw, a sharp sensation as nails dug into the bruising across the side of his face. He gritted his teeth with a hiss. “Open.” The words were hard, a cold command that made Ajay flinch, his head tilted back as he obliged after another sharp jabbing pain to his jaw. His lips parted as a cold sensation washed over his mouth. The crisp clean water flooded into him faster then he could drink. He took massive gulps nearly painful for his throat, his thirst ignited with the first taste as he took all Sabal was willing to give. He made a sound when the other ceased, drawing back as he released Ajay’s jaw. He cleared his throat, feeling the raw sensation become a little more bearable.

 

“Sabal?” Ajay dared to open his eyes again, giving a slow look up, the brightness of the light was gone, blocked out by the looming figure of the Golden Path leader. His once soft and calming features were all hard edges and sharp points, his green eyes, once so vibrant and bright, a soothing presence for Ajay, were now a dark shadow that glared daggers at him. Daggers, that Ajay could swear he could already feel biting into his flesh, driving their anger and disappointment into his heart. The shadows spread across his features, nestling into the dips and hollows of his face, adding sullen and sunken shapes that cast a smoldering darkness against the remnants of what used to be.

 

“I’m deeply disappointed in you Ajay.” Those words hurt more than the gaze set upon him in that moment. He tilted his head down, blinking slowly to disband the lingering tendrils of sleep that held on for dear life. His shoulders jerked as fingers found their way into his hair, curling tightly as they tugged back, forcing his eyes to meet the assaulting green orbs. “Did you think you could leave, just like that?” Sabal’s words were broken, nothing like the soothing silk that greeted him warmly all those times before. The touch was harsh and brutal compared to the gentle caresses and firm pats on his shoulder he’d receive in the past. This was not the Sabal that Ajay had looked up to and idolized. This was not the caring and strong leader that put his men's safety above all else. Who fought for the lives of others instead of taking them with disregard. This was not the devout follower of Kyra that Ajay had fallen in love with. Instead this was something more, as if possessed by Yalung himself.

 

Ajay’s lips parted, words rising to answer but they died out before they even reached his tongue. His mouth closed again, jaw clenching as the fingers in his hair tightened their grip, a painful spread of needles in his scalp at the strain. He winced, gritting his teeth. “Nothing to say, _Son of Mohan?_ ” His words were cold and bitter, digging into him deeper, going for blood. “You’ve shit on everything your father has built. On everything he worked and died for. You think you can just run out on it?” _On me?_ Those words were left unspoken but Ajay heard them loud and clear in the back of his mind. They spiked down his spine with a tightness that made the earlier ache seem like a fading sensation.

 

“Sabal..” Ajay’s voice was broken, pleading to the man to let go. He hissed as the grip jerked his head back, the bones grinding loudly in his ears as he was shoved back to the floor. The fingers finally released with a growl of disapproval. Ajay hit the ground, landing on his bound wrists with a cry of pain. They moved to brace himself but were met with the tightness of rope digging in to his already raw skin. He whimpered, rolling over to his side. His legs were heavy, trying to move them was like wading through quicksand. The bright light of the bulb assaulted his senses once more.

 

His eyes turned away to gaze at the cold stone floor, his attention flitting over the dark brown stains that covered the ground, splattered in some areas and pooled in others. He didn’t have to guess to know what they were, nor did he have to guess where he was. He had brought too many people to this place, under Sabal and Amita’s orders. Interrogation was their strong suit in some ways, he assumed it was for the cause but they each seemed to find a sick satisfaction in beating Royal Army members to hell. In fact, this whole country was fucked up like that.

 

As his eyes traveled down, glancing around the room, he realized he was wearing his usual clothes. The ones the members of the Golden Path knew well enough. He wondered idly if they had actually taken the time to dress him after they kidnapped him or if this was a later addition. His feet were bare, already showing signs of the cold taking its toll on his body. He could only imagine how worse off his hands were. The leather gloves were present but that didn’t stop the chill that spread throughout him.

 

His attention was snatched away at the click of the door, several guards entered, armed with rifles, eyes sharp and fixed on him like he was a rabid honey badger strolling around the bushes. There were commands delivered from Sabal, the words were in their native tongue, leaving Ajay in the dark. The men nodded, turning to approach Ajay, they snatched him up, dragging him to his feet. He cried out as his body was assaulted with pins and needles digging into his nerves, his muscles tightened up, cramping into wound coils that refused to release. Knots of pain that he was forced to take a step into. His knees buckled, his body doubling over to curl up on the floor. He gritted his teeth, soft whimpers leaving his chest as he shook his head at their urging. “Kyra have mercy.” He mumbled out, a habit he had picked up from the other man that often slipped out at odd moments. It was foreign to his own ears but seemed to pluck at something in Sabal’s presence.

 

Ajay felt the familiar grip on his shoulder, kinds, caring and eager for him to open up, to let him in. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until fingertips hooked under his chin, raising it to meet those green orbs. “She may have mercy brother, but I will not.”

 

Any hope he had had vanished in that moment. Sabal’s eyes were still twisted, unrecognizable to him. He barked another order to his men, sparing a pitying glance to Ajay as they forced him back on his feet and walked him out of the building. The cold of the stone terraces were lost to his already chilled form as he was strutted through the village towards a truck that awaited them. He was shoved into the back with complete disregard. Two men were inside the cab as three more flanked him inside the bed of the vehicle. Any respect or care they once had shown him in the past was completely lost to him now.

  


The ride was long and hard on his body with the rough terrain of the back Kyrati roads, every bump had him jerked and tossed around inside the bed. The soldiers didn’t seem to mind his whimpers as he struggled to find leverage to buckle down. It was futile as they hit another rough bump, taking a hill too fast that nearly had him tossed over the side of the truck bed. The soldiers hissed out, cursing the driver for their recklessness only for their own sake. Ajay was unaware of when he had passed out but he was jostled back to life when the soldiers dragged his crumpled form out of the bed of the truck. It had already fallen to night by the time they reached their destination. The cold air left white clouds from their lips floating up as they mumbled and cursed back and forth in Nepalese.

 

Ajay’s eyes glanced around slowly, gazing out over the cliff side at the familiar mountain view. He had spent hours gaze at those snow capped peaks, watching the trees and landscape sway and bend to the wind. Sat on the rocky face of the cliff side as he let the sun bath over him, warming what the cooler mountain breeze had ghosted over, feeling the heat at his back and on his face. His head hung, chin dropping to his chest as he was tugged in a different direction. His eyes making a brief note of the red door nestled beneath the exterior deck, the old wooden chair, already occupied with the same old guard and caretaker for his father’s homestead.

 

He was shoved into the building, the guards flanking Ajay as they manhandled him until he was allowed to collapse onto the pile of rugs laid out across the center floor. The room was warmer, welcoming him with a heat that started to thaw his chilled form. He wiggled across the ground towards a stack of rugs, one of which had a handful of fur pelts he had procured some time before he left Kyrat. The place, from just a brief glance, appeared to be just how Ajay had left it a little over a month ago, aside from a bit of cleaning to keep the dust away. He felt a boot press against his back, digging in between his shoulder blades as he was forced into the ground. He hissed out a sharp pained breath, his teeth gritted as a sharp command came, dragging out with that thick Nepalese accent. “Hold still.”

 

He heard the telltale shink of a blade being drawn from the sheath, felt the sharp tip prodding at his lower back, his body stilled, his breath caught in his throat as the blade was moved down his back before he felt the pressure on the ropes. They gave way, releasing his wrists with a sudden motion. His shoulders wincing, feeling swollen at the joints from the prolonged position. The knife rested at his back in warning, pressing the tip against his skin, allowing him to move his arms to a more comfortable place but keeping his palms flat on the ground. His eyes roamed over towards the red markings bitten into his flesh from the tightly wound rope. He felt the weight shift off of him and move back towards the door. The guards stood watch over him, two inside and two sitting just outside, watching him like a hawk.


	3. Home Away From Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little bit more fun to write and gives more depth to what's going on. 
> 
> Thank you for the feedback and the kudos, it really means a lot to me, especially since I'm new to writing for this fandom and especially this pairing. I'm still sort of testing the waters and the support really helps and motivates me to jump into another chapter. ^.^ Thank you so much and enjoy!

It took several hours for Ajay to finally warm up. Even longer for his body to let him move on his own, though he spent more time crawling around on the ground floor. He dragged some of the mats off to the side to curl up on and managed light naps in between. He would stir at the slightest movement or sound from the guards, his eyes meeting theirs only to receive pointed looks in return. He’d turn away, focusing on something else to try and ease the tension down in his body. His thumb rolling over the tender bruising and raw flesh left behind by the rough burn of the ropes.

 

He let the pain sting, stifling the hiss that rose to his lips. His form slumped with his back to the wall, facing the door, his only way of escape. The two guards stood prepared like sentinels, ready for anything he could throw at them. His eyes would occasionally wander to the ladder leading up to his old room, making him wonder if his weapons were still stored up there. Of course, he didn’t expect them to be. Sabal had to be smarter than that. He still couldn’t help but wonder, with his damned curiosity. It’s gotten him into more trouble then he’d like to admit.

 

His attention darted back towards the doorway when he heard the click of the lock. His eyes narrowed on the familiar dark jacket, the yellow stripes across the shoulders portraying his status, though all knew better. He was no longer a lowly commander of the Golden Path. With Pagan gone and Ajay, nothing more than a prisoner, Sabal was left to rule Kyrat as he pleased, the Tarun Matara at his side with quiet obedience.

 

He heard the older man address the two guards standing on either side of the door, their native language was a familiar sound to his ears but far from understandable. Sabal seemed to be getting a brief report on Ajay as the guard's did most of the talking.  One gestured towards him, securing his suspicions. All three turned to gaze over his slumped form posed against the opposite wall. He let his eyes fall back down to fussing with the marks on his wrists, the burn of pain had faded out, now a numbing sensation that made him seek out the former, just enough to distract himself.

 

“I'm actually surprised brother.” The voice was amused but underlined with a suspicious glint. The older man crouched down before Ajay, so they were eye to eye as they spoke. Ajay refused to look up, his eyes fixed firmly on his hands. He feared the man he'd see if he dared to meet Sabal’s gaze. “You've made no attempt to leave.” Ajay tensed as fingers hooked under his chin, raising his eyes to meet those foreign green orbs. They were sharp, intimidating even, as if daring him to defy the truth. “You and I both know you could easily leave this place. Four guards is nothing to the _Son of Mohan_.”

 

Ajay gritted his teeth, that name making him flinch. It twisted up his stomach in a heavy knot, the weight that name placed upon his shoulders had always been unbearable but the truth that weaved through it had pushed him to his limits, nearly crumbling. He didn't let his surprise show at Sabal’s suggestion. The older man gave him a pointed look, seeking out a reason for his supposed submission. Ajay gritted his teeth before releasing a deep sigh. “There's been enough killing.” His words held less conviction but he was tired, he wanted this all to end. He thought he had made that clear enough when he left Kyrat.

 

Sabal scoffed at that, giving him a good long look as if Ajay had just cracked a joke. His lips tilted up a smile but his eyes displayed their disbelief. His features dropped back to their serious undertone, relaxed on the surface but hard around the edges that mattered. “How long did it take you to convince yourself that, brother?” The grip on his jaw tightened, nails digging into tender bruised skin. He fixed Ajay’s gaze so his own was bearing down on him, unable to flee for even a moment. “Did your trip to America open your eyes or did it prove that you no longer belong there? That you _never_ belonged there.” He pressed, his fingers releasing their hold.

 

“No matter.” Sabal’s lips curled into a plastic smile as he sat back on his haunches. “You're here now. Right where you belong.” _Right where I want you._ Ajay could almost hear it drifting between them, unspoken but present all the same. The dominating posture of the normally meek and passive man had Ajay tense, fingers curled tightly in his lap. His heart was far too loud for his comfort. The gentle elephant that presided over his well being was now a fierce predator and Ajay was the prey in his sights. Like the wolf at his door, he was trapped.

 

The looming form didn't linger long as the radio crackled to life on his belt. Sabal took a deep breath, exhaling a weary sigh as voices echoed over the radio, the language was harsh, overcome by the peppering blasts of gun fire. Ajay picked up mentions of Royal Army soldiers. Despite all the outposts, towers and fortresses being under Golden Path control, there were still small cells and clusters of Royal Army troops hiding out in caves and bunkers scattered throughout the Kyrati wilderness. Convoys still patrolled the roads and supply trucks slipped in and out through barricades and harsh terrain. Boats still popped up on the rivers, transporting armed men. They fought for control, reclaiming outposts and belltowers. Without Ajay’s help, the slow retrieval of these lost assets were costing more lives than necessary, adding to the stresses and frustration Sabal was dealing with.

 

He barked a few commands into the radio, his accent more prominent with his native tongue. His brows furrowed with displeasure as he turned to leave the room. His boots scuffing the dusty wood floors, pausing briefly to pass on another order then disappearing out the door. Ajay could feel the eyes of the guards reaffirm their glares towards him. He gave a shaky breath, sinking back down into the rugs and pelts with a weary sigh of his own.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

_“Rakshasa!”_

 

_The lithe figures hissed out, a low growl that sent a chill through Ajay’s body. Their black smoky presence trailing paths through old prison ruins. The mountain cold piercing him like a sharp dagger to his chest, trekking across his body in ways that were maddening, like hundreds of little insects crawling across him, under his clothes, digging into his skin. He writhed, the distant screams of tormented souls barred in tiny cells echoed like the bells of Shangri-la. It rocked his body with vast tremors, quaking him to his core._

 

_The vile blue masks were a stark contrast against the pale ghosts bodies set back in the dimly lit narrow corridors. The sweeping breeze of icy gales blowing in between mountain peaks and invading the open facade of the prison landscape.  He couldn't contain his shivers, his breath catching in panicked gasps as he crawled his way through the narrow paths, ducking behind statues and through doorways to avoid being detected by the ruthless demons._

 

_The ledge of the prison was a welcome relief but the strong gusts and icy cliffs made the repel down a daunting task. He tossed a glance back over his shoulder, taking one last look to ensure he wasn’t spotted by the demons before hooking in and casting his body over the edge. He took a shaky breath before lowering himself, one step at a time. His eyes focused on his footholds, fingers gripping the old rope tightly, keeping his body planted where he wanted to, loosening his grip only when he wanted to descend, slow measured paces. His dark eyes looking down, feeling his heart drop from his chest with the height of the cliff overlooking the slope. The snowstorm obscured his view, preventing him from seeing the bottom._

 

_He heard a hiss, a scream echoing in the halls before the fatal growl of the demon. The black smoke lunged at him as it gave its origin cry, hands grappling for his body and dragging him back up over the edge. He cried out, feet kicking for leverage on instinct, pushing himself back off the edge of the cliff. It sent both him and the demon plummeting. The creature clawing at him as he struck out, trying to free his hands to catch himself on the rocky face. “Fuck! Oh god! No!” He screamed, as the wind rushed up around him, a whiteout above and the face of the demon mere inches from his own., giving its own cry against his._

 

_“Rakshasa!”_

  


 

 

Ajay continued to scream, fighting against the creatures lurking in his dreams even as Sabal and two of the guards tried to hold him down if only to keep him from hurting himself. His eyes were partially open, glazed over and trapped in whatever nightmares plagued him. Ajay had been murmuring and mumbling incoherently, curled up on the mats  in the corner, writhing frantically. It was when they had reached blood curdling proportions that guards radioed Sabal who was relaying orders in a nearby outpost. It didn’t take long to get to Mohan’s house, he could hear the screams before he even left the vehicle.

 

The situation escalated when Sabal attempted to wake the younger man, putting hands on him was immediately a bad decision that earned him a couple blows to the chest and one to the face. The guards quickly jumped in to help and it took all three of them to restrain him. It was in doing this, that Sabal realized truly how formidable Ajay was, his physical strength was greater than his own, which was understandable given their obvious size difference. Ajay was all brute muscle, coiled and prepared to strike at any moment, like a leopard stalking through the brush. It made sense as to why he had done such fine work against any foe placed before him, rather they be Royal Army or wild beast.

 

“Ajay! Ajay, wake up!” Sabal commanded sharply, trying to get through to him. He heard the cries, the fearful twisting of his features, the way his body flexed and curved, arching like a cat trying to find solid ground. His panic only seemed to escalate as he was immobilized, Sabal cupped the sides of his face to keep him from hitting his head against the floor, giving a light slap to his cheek to get through the haze that had shrouded around him.

 

Ajay’s eyes started to come into focus, slowly at first before he began to take in his surroundings. His mind was struggling between the nightmares and his reality. The backdrop of Mohan’s home started to make more sense but the faces around him, the blue clad figures all wore the demonic masks that haunted him. He whimpered, struggling as their hands tightened on his body, forcing him into the floor. His eyes widening as one neared, their face uncomfortably close to his own. The hiss of the Rakshasa faded in and out, the distant voices underlying started to come into focus. His heart was hammering loudly in his chest, the blood rushing in his head, nearly washing out the sounds as a familiar set of syllables gave him something to cling to. “Brother, wake up! Whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real. Ajay!”

 

The masks flickered, the pale bodies spattered in the blue powder shattered like the calm glassy facade of a lake when a ripple sheds across it. The ripples swelling through his mind cleared away the illusions and gave light to the truth as two guards stared at him wide eyed and uneasy. The jade green orbs shone the brightest in the dimly lit house. They were softened with genuine concern, soft hushes easing him from the panic that burrowed into his chest. “It’s alright, brother. You are safe. Ssshhh.” The guards released Ajay once they were reassured he wouldn’t attack, backing off to resume their post by the door. Sabal gently guided Ajay to an upright position, his hands gingerly caressing the sides of his face, keeping his focus on the older male.

 

“S-Sabal?” He questioned, one hand reaching up to touch the hand on his skin. It was warm. Far warmer than the icy touch of the demons. His eyes closed as he was hushed once more.

 

“Breath brother.” Sabal guided him in the exercise, following the same slow deep inhales, holding it for a moment before releasing it out much the same. In through his nose, out through his mouth, quelling the thunder that had become his heart. Sabal policed the pace in which they breathed, giving Ajay something to cue into, much like their past moments of meditation. “That’s it, brother. Just like that.” His hands released his face, moving to rest in his lap, fingers woven together as emerald eyes inspected his more relaxed posture.

 

Ajay was still wound up, eyes flitting around the room in a quick scan to ensure those within, were those that belonged within the confines of the house. He shifted, keeping his back more fully against the wall, his knees drawn up in a defensive posture that closed himself off from the others. He rested his arms atop his knees, feeling more secure this way as he dared another look towards the Golden Path leader. Those eyes still held their soft concerned tone, swirling with curiosity and maybe….maybe something more. Pity perhaps? Or sympathy? It made him wonder if Sabal is ever faced with nightmares after all they’ve been through, all they’ve done. He wasn’t sure if growing up in a war torn country made one immune to such terrors but Ajay knew, he wouldn’t wish this upon anyone else.

 

“Feel better?” The words weren’t sharp, not like he had been expecting after their last interaction but they weren’t very warm either. Sabal, Ajay realized, was much more reserved then he had been in the past. He dared another fleeting glance to those jade eyes, finding their was uncertainty within them, but he wasn’t sure what about. The older man seemed to be expecting a response, which Ajay gave the bare minimum. A slow nod of affirmation as his gaze turned back down, giving his bruised wrists a little more attention. His fingers were clenched into weak fists, trembling enough that it was noticeable. He drew his hands up closer, hiding their weakness as he tucked himself up more.

 

Were this some other place or time in the past, he would have gladly thrown himself at Sabal’s mercy, seeking out the comfort of the other’s presence. He may have even spoken about these terrors that plagued him for so long but not here and most certainly not now. This man, whom he had looked up to for so long, idolized even, possibly much the same that Sabal had once idolized his father, he was not the same as before. He was not somebody Ajay could trust such horrific secrets to.

 

Sabal waited a little longer, rather he was hoping for a more verbal response or for Ajay to open up to him about what had just transpired or maybe even question his motives, he wasn’t certain. Whatever it was he had been waiting for, had not come, leaving them in an extended silence as Ajay seemed to retreat further within himself. It was a rare occasion that Sabal could witness such fear on another’s face, though on Ajay’s it was unheard of. The young man, even when faced with life threatening injuries or hopeless odds, would grin and bear through it was an admirable amount of optimism.

 

He released a deep sigh, pushing himself up to his feet, finding this interaction was going nowhere. Ajay watched as he moved to the kitchen, setting a pot on the stove to brew some tea. The herbal aroma was a pleasant distraction from the smell of smoke and gunpowder that carried on everyone who passed through here. It was ingrained into the house itself it seemed. The silence carried on, disturbed only by the soft sounds of Sabal moving around the kitchen, placing two cups on the table, pouring hot tea into each. He let it steep for a moment, carrying them back over to the pile of rugs Ajay had settled himself into like some kind of nest.

 

Over time, he noticed Ajay had grown more animalistic in his actions. Not that he was a mindless beast in human form. Sabal took note of the way he would sleep in belltowers to keep out of reach of predators and avoid patrolling Royal Army soldiers. He would hide away inside caves, or wander the wilderness over taking actual roads to get from place to place. He avoided people as much as he physically could in between tasks. He was skittish, jumpy, trailing along the edges of crowds or finding a perch high above all the rest. He wouldn’t be able to unwind unless he was alone or in a place he felt safest, rather that was the communal housing or Mohan’s home. His eyes constantly scanning his surroundings for trouble, a habit that many others had become numb to. It made him acutely aware of his surroundings, which pulled another question at his thoughts. How this newly acutely aware american managed during his brief stay in the states? He could only imagine how worse off Ajay was in a land with too many people and too little to flee to for safety.

 

He held off on the questions though, putting it in the back of his mind for later, when Ajay was much more talkative, at least, more than this. “Here, brother. Drink.” He offered the cup to Ajay. The younger male eyed it carefully as Sabal placed it to rest between them, giving him enough room to take it if he pleased. He certainly felt like he was dealing with a wild animal as he scooted a comfortable distance back, taking a quiet sip of his own cup, letting the warmth of the herbal drink spread throughout his body.

 

Ajay watched him for a minute or so, eyes glancing between Sabal and the slow rising wisps of steam floating up from the rim. Only when he felt assured, did he reach out, wary of Sabal’s motions as he took the drink. Sabal made certain to hold still so as not to spook the younger man, offering a small smile of approval as Ajay took an experimental sip. His features relaxed, rather it was at the soothing taste of the tea, or the lack of drugs he might have been expecting laced within, he drank it with the same measured sips that Sabal portrayed. It was easy for them both to settle into the comfortable silence, giving the illusion of the good old days when they would sit like this back in Banapur after a session of meditation.


	4. Temporary Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. To be honest, I'm not really sure how well this is going so far. But, these characters are fun to write with and I hope I'm doing them some form of justice because I'm not really sure. I'm not used to them and their personalities as well as I wish. Hopefully you all are satisfied. Enjoy!

Ajay didn’t open up to Sabal, despite them sitting in silence for nearly an hour. Sabal settled into meditation while Ajay remained huddled up in his spot, quietly staring off at a fixed point on the floor. His gaze was distant and uninterrupted, leaving the guards uneasy. It wasn’t until the static of Sabal’s radio broke the silence, that the whole room seemed to breath once again. Ajay’s body became tense, jolting at the sound before his mind could place it, relaxing again. Sabal gave a cautious glance over him before excusing himself to take the transmission, leaving the younger man in the care of the guards.

 

As time passed, Ajay was growing considerably restless with nothing to occupy his mind or time. He rarely left his spot on the rugs, except to exert some energy with small exercises, such as push ups or sit up. When he wasn't napping or exercising, he submitted himself to long periods of meditation, a habit that he had grown accustomed to after so many days spent with Sabal. He started using this as a way to calm his mind before and after major missions or tasks, to ease himself back so he's not overwhelmed by doubts or the troubles that follow when taking a life. He became even more active in it after his trip to the Monastery. When he returned to the states, it was a big help when he'd become panicked and overcome with the stress and activity of civilian life. It was hard to admit now, but he was thankful of that, that this was what Sabal had passed on to him, despite the shortcomings of their relationship. It was one of the few pleasant memories he could cling to now, without a feeling of guilt or shame distorting it.

 

Ajay had been lost in one of his bouts of meditation when a voice drifted through to draw him back to reality. “Ajay.” It was silky, with a smooth reassurance accompanying light comforting touches to his shoulder. It was getting easier for him to give in without incense playing as a medium but he still had trouble managing time as it passed. By the time the voice coaxed him out of it, the room was much darker and they were completely alone. “Welcome back brother.” Sabal greeted with ease, an amount of approval at Ajay’s choice of time spent.

 

A few candles were placed strategically to offer enough light to cast away shadows, jade green orbs burning like coals in the heart of it. The scent of herbal tea rising up to fill his nostrils and the underlying spices of cooked food permeated all the rest. Sabal had set out a cup of tea for them both, beside each, a bowl containing cooked meat with a heavily spiced broth sparked the painful growls of hunger from Ajay’s stomach. Sabal sat down across from him, catching one of the audible protests of Ajay’s body to the prolonged absence of sustenance. He dared a knowing look as he prayed, a gesture of appreciation before partaking in the meal. Ajay gave the bowl a curious, albeit suspicious glance, his eyes darting back up towards Sabal. The leader seemed to take note of this as he scoffed. “Please, if you're worried about its safety, at least give me some credit. I'm not low enough to waste what scarce food we have by tainting it with drugs.” He continued to eat, his eyes giving brief glances between the bowl and his counterpart, noting as Ajay seemed hesitant still.

 

Ajay wasn't a stranger to the growing pains of hunger that festered inside him. He had spent many days going hungry or eating just enough to keep the dizziness at bay. He feared for their scarce resources, much like Sabal had stated, often finding a sickening amount of guilt curling up inside him when he'd eat in front of others. As if each meal he consumed could have gone to a more deserving person. After passing by so many farms and abandoned homes, hearing the murmured stories of folks driven to starvation by the Royal Army’s strict ruling, staking claim on everything they could, he found it hard not to think about it. The bodies of children starved within an inch of their lives, occupying ditches or mass graves at execution sites. He felt his stomach lurch, the color draining from his features as shaky hands took only the tea with hopes of calming the sickness within. “Is something the matter, brother?” Sabal’s voice rose as Ajay took a tentative sip, his own meal forgotten in lieu of concern for the younger man.

 

“I'm fine.” Ajay sighed, blowing the small wisps of steam away from the rim before taking another sip. “Just not hungry is all.”

 

“Ajay, you haven't eaten in three days. Kyra knows how long before that.” Sabal stated, giving him a pointed look. _Has it really been that long?_ He wondered, his mind drifting a bit to count the days. The last time he ate was the night he was taken by the Golden Path. It was a carry out from a small hole in the wall type diner, a meal he could take with him as he retreated back to his hotel. He barely even ate what little he had in the first place. “Ajay.” Sabal spoke more firmly, demanding his attention. Ajay simply shrugged, taking a few more slow sips of his drink, avoiding Sabal’s gaze in the process.

 

“Ajay, look at me.” He urged, Ajay paused, his lips resting on the rim of his cup before he raised his eyes to greet the inquisitive jade green hues that seemed to dig into him, searching his expression for the truth in which the younger man was keeping to himself. “If you intend on starving yourself to death, just know i am not above force feeding you. Don’t let it come to that.” He tested, pressing his control in the situation on the other to ensure he complied. It wasn’t often that Sabal would pull his weight against Ajay, but at times like this, he wasn’t going to let Mohan’s son starve himself unnecessarily.

 

Ajay seemed to consider the warning, feeling the power of the threat behind it. Sabal was determined enough in even the most menial tasks, he had patience. Ajay wouldn’t put such a threat past the man, not after what transpired at Jalendu. “Alright. Fine.” He gave in, setting his drink down hesitantly, staring down at the half empty cup before his hands moved to take up the bowl. His hands were shaking too much to hold the utensil still but he managed a few small bites of meat. His stomach twisted up in a conflicting confusing array of protest and agreement. He took short pauses in between bites, letting the food settle. Sabal watched him quietly for another minute or so, before continuing with his own. Every bite was a fight against his body for some semblance of control, leaving him feeling relieved by the time he was done, setting the bowl aside and returning to the tea for some form of calming.

 

Sabal didn’t speak up, taking their dishes when finished and returning to the kitchen to clean up. It was growing late, certainly past midnight at this point. Sabal didn’t seem keen on leaving anytime soon and the guards didn’t return. Ajay resumed his huddled spot on the rugs, laying down carefully with his head resting in his folded arms, his back to the wall and his eyes following the rebel leader around the room. He seemed occupied, after several minutes, his hands shuffling through documents and reports that rested upon the table near the door. The radio that Sabal always used to contact him with was sitting beside it, unusually quiet for once as well. Ajay wondered if it was even on at all or maybe, he just wasn’t used to the peace that followed Pagan’s end and the dispersal of the Royal Army.

 

“Why did you bring me back here?” Ajay spoke up after the silence stretched too long for his comfort. Without the distant explosions of gunfire and the crackle of radio static, he found it hard to relax. As if this were the calm before the storm, despite knowing the storm was long since over now.

 

Sabal shuffled idly through a few documents, his eyes scanning over the reports as he spoke up. “I thought you’d be more comfortable in your family home.”

 

“That’s- not what I mean.” His voice broke for a moment, he drew in a slow breath, checking his wording before letting it slip past his lips. “Why did you bring me back to Kyrat? Why go to the effort of following me to America just for this?” He gestured with his head towards his current imprisonment.

 

Sabal’s motions ceased, he set the papers down onto the table with a weary sigh, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes were uncharacteristically worn, the light that once sparked in them with every chipper greeting had long since dimmed. He had seen those eyes before. The way Pagan looked at him, so tired and just, done with it all. He wondered how long it had taken the King to reach that point in his position or if it was immediate, taking its toll right away and wearing them down. “You are my second in command, Ajay. I need you here.” He pressed, giving him the illusion that he still had a choice and freedom in this decision. As if the four guards keeping him holed up were just an accessory for his new position. He wondered what Sabal had been telling his subordinates about Ajay’s absence from the front lines and even the new King’s side. “You do not belong there, brother. America is- _was_ always a temporary place for you, but your country - your _home -_ will always be Kyrat.”

 

“If you cannot see that, after all we’ve been through, then I will have to open your eyes to the truth.” Sabal turned to face him, those green orbs were striking in the candle light. A stark contrast to the chocolatety coloring of so many others he had met here. Something about Sabal’s eyes were always alluring, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. From the moment they met in De Pleur’s fortress, he was trapped in that gaze, seeking out the light that beamed in his presence. The same light that was painfully absent now. No, it had vanished long before, when he was sent to reclaim Jalendu. Something about that day, it all changed.

 

Ajay released a slow weary sigh, turning his head away from Sabal’s gaze, a signal that he was finished with their conversation. For once, Sabal didn’t fight him over it, appearing to agree as he returned to his reports, leaving Ajay to consider what he said and to find some rest.

  


His sleep was far from peaceful but not as terrible as the previous night. He had fitful dreams, tossing and turning on the rugs with restless motions. His lips parting to murmur incoherent words, waking with a start as if fearing he was about to fall. His eyes opened slowly, finding Sabal absent, replaced by the guards standing by the doorway, their expressions more bored than anything else. He pushed himself up from his spot, stretching his limbs along the way. The guards looked tense as he rose to his feet, giving him wary wide eyed glances, fingers tapping the sides of their guns, pointing out the lack of safety and their preparedness to shoot should he attempt anything. He held his hands up in surrender, slowly raising them to stretch out his back. They watched him a moment more, considering his actions before allowing him to move about as he pleased.

 

He sighed, giving his kitchen a good long glance, trying to decide what to do with his time. His eyes shifted towards the loft again. What he would give for a shower and a change of clothes. He heaved a sigh again, turning towards the guards with hands out where they could see. “Hey, I was wondering if I can get some water from the pump outside. Just to clean up a little.” The guards regarded him, one raising his gun as the other turned to retrieve a bucket, keeping him at gunpoint until his partner returned. They kept him at a distance, barking commands as they set the bucket down on the table, waiting until they resumed their spots before allowing Ajay to tend to himself. He went to a drawer nearby, searching for a rag to soak in the water. He wasn’t too keen on the cold temperature but he didn’t feel like waiting to boil it beforehand.

 

He shucked off his jacket, letting it lay against the surface of the table before peeling off his shirt, facing off to the side so he didn’t have to watch the guards while he stripped. His eyes more focused on his task as he soaked the rag in the water, raising it to wipe the oily residue from his face, clearing away the dirt and grime that inevitably accumulated on his skin. He hissed, feeling the cold of the droplets racing down his skin, dripping onto his back and shoulders. The small escaping drops rolled over months of scars that littered his body. The marks were a stark contrast, making him near unrecognizable compared to when he first arrived in Kyrat, a statement that goes beyond the surface scars, entering someplace deeper and much darker. The country was true to its word, bringing change to all who cross into its borders, though Ajay had yet to find a single positive in that declaration.

 

He shivered as the rag pressed against his shoulder, working the cold touch across his torso to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated the day before and left a film like feeling on his body that left him itching with disgust. When his torso was cleaned up, he leaned over the bucket and scooped water up to dampen his hair, fingers raking through the short dark locks. His eyes closed as he let the chill settle over him. The crisp mountain air nipping at his back, wisps of it rising from under the door, lingering from the brief exit of the guard previously. His body was tense, the sharp chill of the water bringing him back to less enthusiastic times throughout his journey here. Durgesh was not the only atrocity that plagued his mind, though it was up there at the top of reasons why he _fucking_ hates this place.


	5. Homefront

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conflict ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the next chapter. It's a little bit late but I had been focusing on another FC4 fic and playing Valley of the Yetis DLC. (Which was intense) but now I'm recharged and rearing to write more. So I knocked out another chapter. Enjoy!

A few days had passed by since the last time Sabal stopped to visit him. Ajay didn’t seem to notice the absence, the days and nights changing in his eyes only when guard shifts cycle. The opening of the door allowed him brief moments of fresh air and a peek at the scenery over the cliff side. His mind wandered to where the rebel had vanished off to, pondering if he had forgotten about his little captive pet or maybe, maybe he no longer needed him. That this was all for naught, another formality. His nights were plagued with more nightmares, any brief moments of sleep he was allowed would provide horrors in which he’d wake up with a start with guards staring him down, tightly gripping their weapons as if fearing he’d pounce the first chance he’d get.

 

He decided it was best to pass the time in long hours of meditation. The least it could do was speed up the days of idle time and keep the hunger pains away. It wasn’t that he couldn’t eat or cook. He had enough supplies to last him a few days, but whenever he’d near the kitchen area, it would make the guards anxious, watching his every move. Even as he’d move for a glass of water or would make a small pot of tea. His hunger pains would protest the lack of food but his own conscience kept him from stomaching anything without the crippling guilt as the same old images would race across the forefront of his mind. Warm ginger tea and water never brought about this response. He’d make a request each day for a bucket of water, this inquiry was so common that the guards started bringing it in with the shift change without even being asked, setting it aside for his uses, rather it was for a makeshift bath or to drink from.

 

It was around the third or so day when Sabal made a reappearance. The guards were on edge, shifting anxiously as if they knew something that Ajay didn’t. The roar of the truck engine alerted him to the incoming presence as the guards parted to make way for the door. Sabal entered, a scowl painted across his blood spattered features, clothes soaked in the crimson splotches with a rather large wound to his side. His hand cupped over it, a makeshift bandage was placed, made from torn fabric and bunched up over the injury, soaking it all in. A sharp command had the guards fleeing the room in a quick shuffle to flee the irate rebel’s war path. His green eyes fixed on Ajay from the moment he entered, never once straying away from the other’s lotus pose, pinning him in place with a cold look that bordered on the same aggression shown at Jalendu and even before that, in the car when he was given orders to take Amita’s life. “Is this what you wanted _brother_?” His tone was harsh, a growl on lips that once praised him so sweetly. The nickname had lost its endearing sound, becoming barbed and deadly.

 

“Sabal-” Ajay started but was cut off with a hiss.

 

“Is this what you planned? Not happy with the way Kyrat is now? Or is it just me?” He barked, his words were one sharp stab after another as he stalked towards Ajay.

 

He was confused, the pained look crossing his features like a shadow as the gentle elephant loomed over him, a threatening presence that teased at the idea of crushing him completely. “Sabal, I don’t know what’s going on- you..you’re hurt. At least let me take care of it for you.” He moved to get up but was met with a boot to his chest, pinning him back against the wall. The air was knocked out of chest, drawing in sharp gasps to replenish it. “Gah! Sa-Sa..bal!” He cried out, his hands grappling at the elder man’s boot to pry some of the weight off of it. It was no use. He was too weak, the days of hunger made his grip falter, struggling to firm his grasp, his fingers catching uselessly on the laces and edges pitifully.

 

“Why? So you can finish what the others started? Who are you backing now? Amita’s loyalists or the Royal Army remnants? Hm, brother? Where do your loyalties align?” The smell of blood curled up into his nostrils as the larger man hissed out a sharp breath, the pain contorting his features with the sharp edges of anger dwelling in his eyes. A cold glint, stabbing at him as Sabal pressed his boot harder into Ajay’s chest. He gritted his teeth, stifling back the cry of pain that rose to the surface. “Answer me.” Sabal commanded, bearing down on him with more weight.

 

“I don’t….know...what..you’re...ta-ah!” He tried to speak up but the heel of Sabal’s boot wedged against the base of his sternum. He could feel bone shifting and groaning under the weight, threatening to break soon. He sucked in a sharp breath, briefly before exhaling with a groan. The foot slowly removed from it’s spot as Sabal gave a moment’s break before a fist caught him across the side of the face, knocking Ajay to the floor, his body falling to his side, a crumpled heap as he gasped. Pain exploded in his jaw, white hot popping across his vision, teeth clattered together hard enough to make them bleed.

 

Sabal retreated back to the table with a hiss on his lips, removing the cloth and using the wash rag to clean up the wound. He peeled out of his clothing, exposing a toned and muscular form, a lithe frame compared to Ajay’s bulkier size, more composed and more feminine around the hips. Something Ajay had once admired, finding Sabal to be less like the elephant and more sleek like a powerful feline, with traits that couldn’t even hold a candle to Amita’s. It was something Ajay had always admired from afar, sometimes he would adore them up close when Sabal would praise him, placing an arm around his shoulders after a job well done.

 

It was different now. What once was admiration and desire, now his gaze would fall upon it with fear and apprehension. He pushed himself back up into a sitting position, slumped back against the wall. One hand cradling his jaw, feeling the tender skin already taking on a dark bruise. His free hand rested against his chest, feeling the pained places where the blow had been landed. He took a shaky breath, his eyes closed as he listened to Sabal tend to his own injury, the light splashing of the water as he cleaned out the rag, the hiss through clenched teeth as he tended to the open knife wound. It extended for several minutes before the scuff of boots moved towards the kitchen area, the pot was set to boil, the herbal aroma permeating the air once more.

 

He didn’t open his eyes again for some time, his form lagging in his place, head dropping so his chin was to his chest. A dizziness lingered in the back of his mind, the pulsing of his heart was a drum beat in his throat. His breathing slowing, something that was noticed by his counterpart. A hand pressed to his shoulder, giving a curt shove to get him to rouse. He grunted, opening his eyes wearily, meeting the conflicted concerned eyes of the elder man. His brows narrowed, a hand extended to hold his shoulder in a firm grip, the other holding out a cup of tea to him. Sabal’s wound was stitched closed, the black lines intersecting the flesh with a haphazard job, the trails of blood were washed away, his torso still bare but dry now. “When was the last time you ate?”

 

Ajay raised his head, resting it back against the wall giving light to the dark circles that smudged around his eyes, more prominent than usual. He took in a slow deep breath as he murmured. “With you.”

 

“That was four days ago Ajay.” He stated sharply. His hand setting the cup on the floor beside him, forgotten as his hand raised to the non bruised side of his face, straightening up his head with a bit of support. “And the last time you slept- _properly_ slept?” The question was met with a half hearted shrug. The younger’s weakness had not gone unnoticed. The old Ajay would have easily fended off his assault, would have been on his feet standing eye to eye with Sabal or had the elder man on the ground already. For him to just take it without action was unheard of. Now it all made sense to him. “Here, drink.” Sabal commanded, though it held less bite in it now, more doting than demanding. He put the cup in Ajay’s hands, waiting expectantly for him to comply. It was a few long heart beats before Ajay took the first few sips of the warm herbal drink. The tea had honey melted in with it, giving it a naturally sweet flavor that washed away the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. It was a relief on his end.

  


 

 

 

With a hearty meal, something that would put some meat on Ajay’s bones, so to speak, Sabal sat through the entire meal, ensuring Ajay was eating enough and drinking enough. He refused to let him go without, not allowing a single morsel to be left behind. He noticed the sick expression on his face, the twisting distortion in his features as if the meal reminded him of something unsavory. It wasn’t any different then the meals prepared back in Banapur by many of the female villagers. Made of shredded pork with a thick curry and cooked rice on the side. There was a few charred peppers that they had gathered as part of the garden on the property, adding a little extra crunch and kick to the meal. It was something he knew Ajay had eaten before and would like.

 

Despite cooking being a mostly female job, when at war it was required for one to be able to take care of themselves, no matter their gender. This included tasks such as cooking, cleaning, sewing/stitching, tending to wounds and knowing how and what to harvest from the land. Being self sufficient would lead to extended survival. Something in which Ajay knew first hand. Sabal on the other hand, had learned these skills on his own, finding no interest in a house wife to tend to his needs. He was independent, forward focused and in the end, the only woman he desired was Kyra’s blessing.

 

His own meal had started to go cold, barely touched in between his observations of his counterpart. His thoughts lingering on what it was that was making Ajay act like this. It wasn’t just because of the new predicament he was in, being a prisoner in his own home and all. Sabal had noticed it long before Ajay even left. In the beginning he didn’t mind sharing meals with the others, sitting around a fire with the soldiers and listening to their stories. After about a month or so, his presence at those times were less frequent, he would put off partaking in the meal, murmuring excuses or promising he would find something later.

 

It wasn’t until after they had taken back the North that this worsened. Rather it was because of the events after Durgesh or something else that happened up there, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that’s when things really changed. When Ajay really changed. He was flighty, always on the go, barely remaining in place for long. He’d get radio traffic from him day and night, to the point Sabal doubted he was getting any rest at all. He had seen the short burst naps Ajay would take, setting his watch for two or three hours then he’d be back up and on the run for days before stopping by for another brief break. He was leaner during those times, all muscle with very little substance in between. His eyes were dark, weary from lack of rest. His head always on a swivel. Fingers always ready to grab for a weapon at any moment.

 

Since he sent men to retrieve him from America, it appears he was even worse off when he arrived back in Kyrat. He was thinner, his ribs were more noticeable, the white marks of scarring were bright neon lights flaring up for all to gaze upon. His fitful night terrors depicting a picture more graphic than Ajay would ever let on.

 

Sabal released a deep sigh as he turned his attention back to his own meal, noting that Ajay had done as he was asked and eaten his fill. More than, it seemed. He rested back against the wall, one hand resting against his stomach as he tucked himself away once more, his fingers playing with the empty tea cup in idle thought. After Sabal finished his plate, he gathered the dishes to be cleaned up, taking care of the mess from cooking. He placed a bandage over his stitches before tugging a shirt on over his torso, his jacket still left to rest on the table, needing to be washed and dried before the blood sets in permanently. He returned to Ajay’s side, giving him a nudge to his shoulder, this time was far more gentle as he coaxed him out of his huddled position. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

 

Ajay’s weary eyes gazed up at softened green orbs, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort in the tone that he adored so much. He didn’t have the energy to protest as he pushed himself up to his feet. Sabal guided him to the ladder and followed him up to make certain he wouldn’t collapse on the way.

 

Ajay noticed as he passed, that the weapon’s locker was locked up, the handle bolted with all of his items secured inside. His gaze drifted around the room, finding, aside from that, that everything else was right where he left it. He shuffled towards the bed, collapsing down onto the soft mattress, letting his body melt into it. It beat the hardwood flooring, belltowers and even the hotel mattresses he had been sleeping on the last few months.

 

He released a deep sigh as he reached for his wrist out of habit, fingers pressing against the scars of rope burn that marred his skin, his brows furrowed before his mind caught up to the fact his watch had been absent since his return. His hands dropped back to his sides with a sigh, having very little chance against the overwhelming pull of sleep. The scuff of the desk chair scraping across the floor was the last sound he heard before giving into the lull of his nightmares.

 

Sabal remained by his side as he watched Ajay succumb to his own exhaustion. He heaved a tired sigh of his own, his body relaxing back in the chair to take the strain off of his own injuries. He considered some of what he knew involving the younger man, thinking back over the last few months, which ultimately, had been more hell then either of them were willing to admit. They made choices they could never go back on, decisions that would forever be remembered in Kyrat’s history. They were the remnants left standing after so much carnage. The land was bathed in the blood of many, though it was not the kind of cleansing he had anticipated.

 

Of course he had to handle Amita’s loyalists and crushing the last of the Royal Army would secure his position but to move forward from this, Kyrat must grieve. It’s people must mourn and find the strength to keep going. To Sabal that meant instilling a more solid presence of Kyra but he knew many would find more comfort in a physical guide to put their trust and belief in. To the people, that meant he needed Ajay to stand beside him. The Tarun Matara wasn’t enough to assure that but Ajay was Kyrat’s hero. He was the symbol of their liberation and living proof that they finally made it. That Pagan’s reign is over. The hardest part is transitioning from decades of war to the coming years of healing.


	6. Homewrecker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a lot of fun to write so far. Just as a heads up, this flip flops between Sabal's pov and Ajay's pov. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you like what you've read. I really do enjoy hearing what you think, especially since this fandom is so new to me and I'm a little nervous about how I'm portraying the characters. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this far as well. ^.^

Sabal stayed by Ajay’s side for two days, ensuring he was eating properly and getting an adequate amount of sleep, even going as far as to chaperone the younger man out of the house to walk the trails up the mountain to the waterfall. They would tend to the pigs that rooted around the pen, animals being something that seemed to always relax Ajay. Despite the caretaker being present, the younger man took the time to tend to the property himself, weeding the garden, picking the herbs that were ready to be dried and stored, cleaning the laundry and hanging it up on the clothes lines. Sabal stayed by his side throughout, watching him and occasionally helping him with the menial womanly tasks. Ajay had been silent for so long, that it wasn’t until they were hanging up the laundry on the line that he started to speak, startling Sabal but it was a welcome sound as opposed to the distant silence.

 

Ajay’s words held a pride and fondness in them, the topic was a surprising one that was rarely brought up in the last few months. “When I was a kid, I remember my mother always hanging the laundry up on our apartment balcony.” He started. “Our building had a laundry room but she always chose to do it herself. I don’t know why, but when I’d see her carry the basket out there, I’d be so happy because it was something I could help with. She’d boost me up to drape the sheets over the lines and hand me the pins to keep the wind from carrying them off.” He explained as he placed a couple pins in the sheets he was draping out. “She taught me to cook, clean and the importance of always being tidy and well organized. Our apartment was always so cramped and tiny, but she was comfortable there, she made it comfortable. It was home nonetheless.” He sighed, stepping back, running his fingers through his hair to draw the shaggy dark strands out of his face. He had been in Kyrat for so long, the need for a haircut was becoming more prominent. It was getting to the point, he was going to need to start tying it up like Sabal’s.

 

“After she got sick, home faded away. Without her there, it just wasn’t the same.” He released a deep breath, pausing for a moment as his thoughts carried him. Sabal waited patiently for him to continue or to signal his end. After a minute of quiet, the younger’s voice came, heavier this time. The fondness faded to something more pained. “I wasn’t the best son for her. I wasn’t a man she could be proud of but she never held that against me. Not once.” He explained, his gaze rising to meet Sabal’s. There was a redness that started creeping in from the edges, the soft chocolate orbs glistened with dampness.

 

He took a shaky breath to regain his composure. “I fucked up, _so many times_.” His voice cracked, a slow descent into something far more raw. “Lakshmana was the one time I wouldn’t be a disappointment to her. The one thing that I could do right.” He curled his fingers through his hair. “I still managed to fuck even that up.”

 

Sabal didn’t know what to say, he knew there was little consolation he could give that Ajay would accept. He moved the few paces between them, gently bringing a warm hand to rest on his shoulder, the fingers drawing slow mindful circles between his shoulder blades, trailing across his spine as his head hung, eyes squeezing shut. His shoulders quaked as he struggled for control over his breathing, one hand rising to cover his mouth as he sniffled. Sabal’s gentle touch added a little more pressure, an open invitation should Ajay need it.

 

The man conceded, allowing the elder to pull him into a firm embrace. Arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him tightly. Ajay never really had the time to properly mourn his mother. Since her death, he had been in a prolonged state of shock. No amount of counseling or self-help books about terminally ill family members could have prepared him for this. He had anticipated mourning her as he spread her ashes, but this fucking war stole that from him. It broke him, made him numb. It took away what was left of him, that his mother’s death hadn’t already shattered. It infected every part of him, from Yuma’s mind games and Pagan’s ranting to Sabal and Amita’s competitive commanding and being regarded for his relations to a man he had only fantasized having in his life, now he was just as much a shadow and blight in his world as Yalung and that Goat fucker.

 

In America, he was always Ishwari’s son, the child of his mother, with her smile and her laugh. He had her conscience and strength, carrying her moral stability and her determination. He could do anything he put his mind to, though his energy was often put in the wrong places, leading to many mishaps. Phone calls from irate principals or displeased appearances of neighbors storming up their walkway. The final straw that wrung his trouble-making habits out was when he ended up in the interrogation room of a police precinct, the cold bite of cuffs on his wrists and the idle silence punctuated by the softly ticking clock on the wall and the bitter stench of stale coffee. He wanted to be better than that. So he didn’t have to see that look of disappointment in his mother’s eyes. It was never in him, he knew that. She often blamed herself when his behavior was less than acceptable to those around them. That always hurt so much more.

  
  


By the end of the night, Sabal had to leave to tend to some problems that arose in a nearby outpost. Another cell of Royal Army soldiers had halted several cargo trucks heading for the outlier outposts, cutting off supplies to villages in need. Sabal was still healing from his injuries but that didn’t stop the man from rushing to the aid of those in trouble.  He was assured that the guard would take care of Ajay in his absence, ensuring he was in good hands before departing in a pickup with four other Golden Path members jammed into the bed, linking up with a second truck filled with members ready for a fight.

 

It took a majority of the night to track down the cell of Royal Army soldiers, using a bait truck to lure them out and tailed them all the way back to their hideout. They lost two men to gunfire, with several more injured but had successfully managed to wipe out the dozen or so soldiers and reclaimed not only their supplies, but intel on other caches the Royal Army was hoarding in the surrounding area. Sabal was exhausted by the time they departed for the nearest Outpost so his men could be tended to and the supplies would be dispersed among the villages in dire need of it. It was mid morning as he walked into the communal house and collapsed onto the rough and worn mattress, seeking a few hours of rest before whatever next problem arose. His knife wound was an aching reminder of how much he had been straining himself, feeling a few of the stitches already pulling.

  


 

 

He hadn’t gotten much rest before his radio crackled to life, the static drawing him to a more alert state, hearing the voices barking into it for his attention. There was screaming in the background nearly overcome by the explosive bursts of gunshots. His mind immediately went to another Royal Army ambush, until he heard the son of Mohan’s name caught up in the mix. Orders barking into the background with Ajay’s name passed around frantically. The radio clicked out with a deafening silence, the connection either lost or the device destroyed as static followed. He was on his feet and rushing out the door of the house, knocking shoulders with two other Golden Path members as he commandeered a vehicle and peeled out of the outpost, the other occupants staring in disbelief and rising confusion.

 

It was painfully long, making his way up to the remote location of Mohan’s home. It was definitely out of the way, even for the outposts nearby, it was a ridiculously long drive. His fingers clutching the steering wheel all the way up, his knuckles white as his mind raced through hundreds of scenarios as to what had happened and what he might walk up on. The first body of a Golden Path member had him halting the truck, the brakes squealing to a stop, the smoke of the breaks and the freshly kicked up dust burning his nostrils and making his eyes water. His eyes glossed over the fallen member, brows furrowed at the massive injuries tearing through their throat. _Wolves._ Sabal recognized, as his eyes scanned and discovered the bloodied paw tracks leading up the rest of the hill towards the house.

 

There were soldiers resting in odd places around the property, dead wolves littered the landscape, bullets peppered their bodies. One of the pigs that Ajay had been keeping had fallen at the jaws of one of the beasts. The caretaker was tending to the wounds of the injured, all were shaken up, wide eyed as Sabal approached. Black pieces were scattered across the ground, the remnants of a radio, smashed and barely recognizable. “How many casualties?” Sabal demanded. The men looked around, doing a brief headcount and coming up with a single solitary number held up with a hand. Well, not counting the pig. The member he had gone past on the way up was the only unfortunate death, though there were an unusual amount of wolves traveling together. “Where’s Ajay?”

 

The men blinked in surprise, looking around again before a voice piped up. “Inside.” It was the caretaker who spoke up, his attention fixed on the wounds he was bandaging on one of the guards’ arms, massive teeth marks leaving crimson trails down to his wrist. “He was out feeding the pigs when the wolves attacked. He took up a gun and fought back. If it wasn’t for him, there’d be more dead.” Sabal’s jaw tightened, feeling the same swell of pride for the Son of Mohan’s actions, punctuated with guilt that he was treating the man like this, keeping him as a prisoner. He needed him out there, fighting by his side, keeping the casualties at a minimum like he did here. He sure as hell could have used him last night, taking on the Royal Army.

 

“Sabal.” The caretaker’s voice broke through his thoughts as the leader moved to enter the house. The man’s eyes meeting those green orbs, they were pained and sympathetic. His tone was tired, softening the rough and weary edge for Sabal’s sake as he warned. “He wasn’t looking very good when he went in there.”

 

“Thank you brother. I will handle it from here.” Sabal nodded in appreciation, his hand turning the knob to enter, steeling himself for whatever trouble awaited on the other side.

  
  
  
  
  


It had happened so fast. The screaming, the blur of tawny fur and blue uniforms, the rapid bursts of gunfire that had been quiet for so long, breaking through the silence of the day without any real warning. The explosion of white across his vision then red. Everything was bathed in red. Hot, dripping, pooling across his body with a far too familiar and sickening sensation. His vision tipped, the world went dark and from it, rose phantoms in the depths. The piercing eyes of a spider with her venom sharp and poised for his neck. The dull pain of a bullet in his shoulder, a wound now long since healed among many others, still resided the sharp tendrils to remind him of his past transgressions. Of the sins he couldn’t atone for or the blood he had spilled.

 

His body moved on autopilot, fingers curling on the trigger of the firearm he hadn’t remembered picking up. The stock nestled comfortably against his shoulder, the recoil no longer a concussive kick back, his body was calloused and worn by the shock. The tremors that rocked through him. Blood pumping, heart racing like the ominous drum beats in his head, throbbing as one massive rhythm as war carried on. The murder, the bloodshed, the death. He scaled this mountain of bodies with blind triumph as they rotted and decayed beneath his feet, toppling him down to join the pits and mass graves he’s left in his wake.

 

He was still holding the gun long after the last beast had died. He heard the screams echoing out. The pain that broke through those cries, echoing in his mind, the wailing lament for lost comrades. The pleas for a savior. The gun dropped to the stained grass, a wet thunk at his feet as he rushed inside the house, barely recognizing the door slamming behind him or the heavily accented words calling out to him. He found his way back to the darkness, nestled into the corner, away from the chaos. His eyes wide, hands resting in front of himself, trembling as distant demons hissed in the back of his mind. A voice far too familiar, too seductive and cold biting into his mind like icy fangs sinking into his flesh. “Ajay~” They called, echoing like the screams within the halls of Durgesh. “Ajay.” They teased again, fingers drawing across his cheek, a feathery brush against sun warmed skin.

 

“Get away from me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, a horrid rasp of broken words. All he saw was red. It coated everything, soaking into his skin, chilling on his flesh with the cooler mountain air curling around him. “Go away.” He choked out before a new echo sounded amidst his thoughts.

 

_‘Sins against the gods can only be washed away with blood. There must be a cleansing for us to move forward brother.’_

 

Those words haunted him. Followed him all the way back to America, never letting him have peace. The scene at Jalendu was forever burned into the back of his mind, playing again and again every time he closed his eyes. A screenplay across the back of his eyelids like some horror film he can never escape. His mind flickering back and forth between Sabal’ face sprayed in the blood of innocents, giving him an ultimatum and Yuma, raving at him about weakness while cursing his mother. The dark wood of the floors twisted up, the earthy tones turning to something far more vile, the taste of copper on his lips, filling his nostrils as he tucked his knees closer. The ground churning up like a crimson tide, threatening to rise and drown him, much like his visions of Kalinag and Shangri-la. Both Yuma’s and those derived from the Thangkas.

 

“Ajay.” The voice returned, the same sickening sweetness calling out to him. His eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head, not daring to see who it was this time. Yuma? Sabal? Or maybe even his mother? He could no longer tell anymore. They were all sounding the same in the end. Each was another well spun tail of lies and deception. He was the one that was fool enough to fall for it every single fucking time. Enough was enough. He was done playing a puppet.

 

The hand pressed against his shoulder, a firm grip that was quickly pried off by his own hands. There was a hiss of breath as he lunged towards the shadowy silhouette.  A scream on his lips, his words frantic as he raved. “Leave me alone!” His fist met flesh, hard bone cracking under his bare knuckles. “I’m not some fucking puppet!” He cursed, hands clutched at his torso, grappling for his arms and shoulders, trying to prevent another attack but Ajay wasn’t going to give in this time. He wasn’t going to stop. For once in his useless life, he was going to see this through. He was going to stand up for himself, no longer playing the part of somebody else’s errand boy and Yes Man taking every bit of flack and abuse that was aimed at him.

 

“I’m not weak!” He heard those words ringing out in the back of his mind, Yuma’s words dancing around his thoughts until his energy faded, his fist losing its strength, rather it was the head rush of the adrenaline or his own exhaustion, but the figure beneath him was able to push him over and onto the floor.

 

Ajay choked out a sob, barely concealing the broken feeling inside him as he continued his mantra, fighting to defend what little dignity he had left. “I’m not weak. I’m not- I’m not weak…” His voice trailed off, tears streaking down blood covered features as his body trembled, his hands raised to cover his face in a last little attempt to protect his pride, what little frayed threads that were left.

 

“I know you aren’t brother.” The voice was surprisingly calm and soothing. Fingers tangled in his hair, combing through the sticky threads of dark locks, breaking away the congealed clumps of wolf blood. One of the beasts had been killed in the middle of attempting to attack and maul Ajay, it’s body covered in bullet holes but the beast never ceased until Ajay delivered the sharp snap of it’s neck with a strong grip. His hands and face were coated in the crimson, his arm had puncture marks from the wolf’s teeth from fending it off. His own blood mixing in with the dried mess, shreds of matted fur and mud still clung to his body.

 

The scuff of boots at the door and the fresh air rushing in signaled that someone had entered. A pointed look from Sabal had the members wary as they rested a bucket full of fresh water by the entrance and retreated back to the safety of the outside. His gaze turned and roamed over the broken man before him, the frightened boy thrown into this war torn country without a prayer or a hope as to any form of survival. Just like Sabal, Ajay was a fighter. He couldn’t allow himself to go down, no matter how tired and fractured he was. He may call Ajay the Son of Mohan, but Sabal sees more of himself in the younger man with each passing day. The young man that was once so starry eyed, gazing up at his idol with such deep respect and fascination. That had been Sabal many years ago, seeing that look in Ajay’s expression fueled something deeper in him, made him cling to the younger man through it all, the way Mohan had guided him along his path, he had hoped to do the same for Ajay.

 

He didn’t know when those eyes lost their spark, the excited thrill that infected all of their greetings had faded, giving room for a heavy dark cloud to settle over them. Rather it was through his own actions or the war finally getting to him, it changed Ajay in ways Sabal couldn’t remedy. This man, Son of Mohan, no, he was more than that. _Savior of Kyrat_ , that was a far more fitting title now. Ajay was far from what Mohan was and Sabal couldn’t help but find relief in that. For Mohan was his own man, whereas Ajay was Sabal’s to keep close and guarded like a special secret. Albeit, he was a little broken with that old fashion Kyrati wear and tear to add to his charm, he was still good enough for Sabal. This was nothing he couldn’t patch up with a little bit of guidance from Kyra and his own two hands.


	7. Home Remedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for the next update. I've been a little busy with writing smaller one shot pieces. But here is the next chapter. Enjoy! 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos below on what you think.

A few days had passed since Ajay’s episode after the wolf attack. He was unusually quiet, more closed off then normal which drew more concern from Sabal. He didn’t bring up the incident, never mentioned what had happened though he did inquire about Sabal’s bruises, wondering if he had another run in with more Royal Army units. Sabal shrugged it off, giving a weary sigh and a nod. That was about the only times Ajay engaged in conversation. Everything else was curt nods or shakes of the head, occasionally met with a grunt of acknowledgement. His gaze always lingered elsewhere, staring distantly at the floors, walls or ceiling, gazing at a fixed point for hours. Sabal would assume he was meditating but instead of peace, he looked troubled and conflicted. He wasn’t eating, would only drink the tea the rebel leader gave him and that was after quite a bit of effort on Sabal’s part to get him to even take it and he wasn’t sleeping at all at night. He would stare off for long periods, tossing and turning in his spot, usually facing the wall or the ceiling, but never Sabal. 

 

There was only so long that Sabal could spare with Ajay before he had to return to his duties around Kyrat. He had a presence to maintain among the people and loose ends to deal with. They were bringing in all of their caches of Kyrati history and scripture, taking it all to the Palace for safe keeping, behind fortified walls. As well as the wealth of Kyrat. Food needed to be transported to the villages in need as well as medicine. They needed proper schools, fixing up the old ones would take time, and proper teachers to educate the masses. They already had the books for it. On top of that, Bhadra’s own education was to be top priority now that she was the Tarun Matara. 

 

He left Ajay in the capable hands of the guards, a new group had been cycled out after the wolf attack, but they were updated on Ajay’s usual routine. Sabal left them with orders to radio him if anything seemed amiss then left. Ajay was still lying in the bed upstairs until long after the rebel leader departed. He waited until it was quiet then pushed himself up to his feet, rummaging around the sleeping quarters of the room. He rifled through three separate boxes and drawers before he found what he was looking for. It was an old box radio, mainly used just for listening to the radio towers. It took a bit of fiddling around before he got the piece of junk to work properly, fixing the antenna until the static cleared and a familiar voice rang through the speakers. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth, hearing the radio host blaring the same old tunes with the same old energetic banter. 

 

He had only been gone a couple months, but to him, it felt like years between Kyrat and American. Even longer still since Sabal and Amita were loudly butting heads in a small outpost shack in the back country of Kyrat. Ajay listened to a few of the songs he knew from all the times driving around Kyrat, catching himself humming a few notes here and there before Rabi’s voice came between the intervals in songs. “This is Rabi Ray Rana, you’re listening to Radio Free Kyrat!” He announced. “Okay, so, serious talk you guys. We all know Sabal is taking this whole leader thing seriously, he’s backing up the promises he made. Building schools, feeding the hungry, kissing babies, etc. It’s all well and good.” He stated, his voice trailing off a bit before he continued. “But what I want to know is, where the man behind this whole accomplishment is at. Where is Ajay Ghale?”

 

Ajay’s head tilted towards the radio, giving it a curious look. He tuned in more, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “I know, I know. Rabi, you’ve brought this up before, but I’m serious you guys. The man was everywhere during the war. He was busting his ass, fighting tigers and Royal Army assholes all over Kyrat then suddenly, Sabal rises to power and our Savior vanishes.”  He held a more conspiratorial tone with this part of the broadcast. “You can’t tell me that’s not suspicious. There are rumors running all over the place, that he hightailed it back to America or that Sabal had Kyrat’s biggest hitman taken out and sleeping with the Demon Fish at the bottom of Jalendu Temple.”

 

“Now do I believe that Sabal went all Godfather on Ajay? I highly doubt it given Ajay’s track record for being an infamous killer and badass. The dude took out the entirety of Pagan’s Regime Rambo style. Needless to say, in comparison Sabal wouldn’t be that big of a step up from there and the fact the guy is still running around in one piece proves that.” Rabi carried on. 

 

“So maybe he did run on back to the States. After all, mission accomplished, Pagan and his people are dead. Ajay Ghale is a free man. I wouldn’t blame him for making a break for it, especially with Sabal’s reign of terror against Amita’s sympathizers.” There was a pause that dragged on, before Rabi spoke up again. “I don’t know. What are your guys’ thoughts on this topic?” The conversation was ended as music drowned it out, leaving Ajay to ponder what exactly was going on since he left. He knew the incident at Jalendu was going to repeat all over Kyrat as Sabal pins down more of Amita’s people and the Royal Army remnants. Those who couldn’t successfully flee the country, that is. 

 

He heaved a sigh and relaxed back into the bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling once more as the music continued. Sabal seemed eager to have him back at his side, fighting next to him with the rest of the Golden Path. He wasn’t certain rather that was because he valued his presence or if he needed his image to quash these outlandish rumors. Though, one of them had been the honest truth for a little while. He should have known it was impossible to really leave Kyrat.

  
  


Ajay sighed, listening in to the rest of the music as it played for another hour or so. Rabi’s voice would break through to talk about one thing or another, sometimes mentioning Ajay, mostly ranting about Sabal and talking about Amita if she were in the rebel’s position. Ajay had a better grip on what the both of them were like and he wasn’t very certain Amita’s Kyrat would be any better then this one. Either way, this was better than Pagan’s to say the least. Though, Ajay couldn’t help his thoughts drifting back to what Pagan had told him before he left Lakshmana. He had an entire country at his disposal, a country he had fought and nearly died for countless times. It was his, rightfully, by his bloodline as the heir to the last Tarun Matara. 

 

It was a right, he didn’t want. Most people romanticize ruling an entire country like it’s some love story in a fairytale. Ajay’s seen what that sort of reality leads to, bloodshed, strife, war, mass graves littering the countryside full of innocent families who didn’t ask to be apart of this; men, women, children. He wanted this war to be over with, but with its end, is the aftermath. A long ass road of further struggle and recovery from twenty plus years of carnage. There was so much damage to the country, so much was irreparable, so much was lost. 

 

He sighed, lying back on the bed as he tossed and turned a bit more, his eyes roaming over the shelf across from it. There was a myriad of glass bottles he had collected over time. Some had different kinds of alcohol in them, some were already empty from long nights spent by himself in silent celebration after nabbing another outpost. Some he had sat and drank with Sabal before getting a bit more intimate. His eyes flashed over the pipe that Reggie and Yogi gave him upon their departure. It wasn’t all that different compared to other Kyrati pipes he’s found around the country. It was tucked away behind the shelf for safe keeping. He didn’t really remember if he had done it himself on purpose or not, but as he fished it out, he also found with it, a pouch of some of Reggie and Yogi’s special recipe. 

 

He gave it a brief consideration, shrugging as he packed the mixture into the open end and lit it with a match. At most, he’ll get a decent sleep out of it and maybe regain his appetite in the process. Possibly even relax his nerves a bit. He took the first long drag of smoke, holding it into his lungs as he let it take him. The first time he had done this, he coughed his lungs out a few times over but now he had become rather practiced at it after many nights spent in the junkies tent. He huffed a few more puffs, relaxed back into the bed, closing his eyes as the light headed feeling swarmed him, waves of warm lapping at him across his body and pulling him under, a slow and careful pace. He exhaled a large cloud of the smoke before drawing another long drag, surrendering.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Well fuck.” Ajay cursed as his eyes blinked open slowly, staring up at the broken tiling and weather worn wood of a belltower. Said bell, still hanging precariously off to the side, tied in place to keep from ringing in the strong mountain winds. The cooler breeze ghosts across his body, sneaking through the opening of his jacket, the zipper not quite all the way up, chilling the sweat that had gathered. He made a disgruntled noise as he recalled why he didn’t take the pip with him back to the states and why the pouch was mostly untouched. He gave himself a quick once over, finding not a single speck of blood on him, which was surprising. Even more so was the fact he was wearing his shoes and gloves, both of which he didn’t remember putting back on. He could only hope he hadn’t hurt any Golden Path members when he left the house, wondering if he had engaged any of them in combat. Given the clean appearance, aside from some dust he could attribute to climbing the tower, he didn’t think he had entered conflict with anyone on the way here. 

 

He breathed another sigh, looking out over the expanse of Kyrat, gazing out at the mountain peaks rising up from the shadows of the trees. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, taking its rightful place as the moon bowed in submission for the time being. As the day was breaking, he was able to distinguish the familiar landmarks that directed him towards his location. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t too far off from Tirtha. In fact, from here, he could probably make it to Rabi’s place in under an hour, if he was especially careful not to get attacked by the wildlife or cross other Golden Path members. He gave the tower another look before shaking his head at the rickety stature before jumping a zipline down to the base of the next hill. 


	8. Homeward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill. Please drop some feedback or kudos down below to let me know what you think about this so far. It is really helpful to know what you guys like/dislike/ are concerned with/questions about, etc. Plus I look forward to hearing anything from you guys. Please! Pretty please drop a comment!

“How can he just up and disappear?” Sabal was furious when he got the transmission from his guards. They reported in the night before that nothing had really changed with the younger man. They brought him a bucket of fresh water to use as per his usual routine, he had greeted them with a quiet nod and they left him alone to tend to himself. The guards didn’t really need to be sitting in the room with him anymore, they were mainly posted out front, patrolling the property to prevent anymore wolf attacks or other mishaps from happening. Now suddenly, Ajay is missing. The sun had already reached high above the treetops, bearing down upon the people with a scorching heat that had sweat trickling down the back of Sabal’s neck as he maneuvered the truck up the narrow path to Mohan’s house. He couldn’t imagine how on earth they had missed the man leaving. He wasn’t even camouflaged for pete’s sake. That jacket was a flashing neon sign for “HERE I AM!” Which was a wonder he got around so smoothly the way he did.

 

The men stood at attention as soon as he approached, rifles slung over their shoulders as they presented themselves before their leader. “He was there last night but this morning nobody could find him. We checked both floors. There’s nothing really out of the ordinary.” One of the members explained as Sabal made a beeline for the door. 

 

His footsteps halted in their tracks as he entered the house, catching the first familiar scents of the foul hash mixture Ajay used to smoke. He had thought that would be the end of it once the junkies had vacated the premises but the scent lingers, making his features scrunch up in disgust. He walked the lower level searching for clues, noting his shoes were gone, he took no other supplies or provisions. No weapons either, he discovered as he climbed up the ladder to find the locker was untouched. There was a radio sitting beside his bed, turned off for now, as he flicked it on, he heard the music playing from Rabi’s station, giving another sharp growl of annoyance as he silenced the device. 

 

There wasn’t much else out of place, a few bottles of alcohol had been moved around, the dust on the shelves disturbed my the change. His bed was an unmade mess, still wrinkled from being laid in. As his eyes roamed around, he noticed a small beam of light making its way into the dimly lit room. Upon closer inspection, he followed it to one of the boarded up shutters in the home, one of many around the house. An easy pull on the board and it came free from it’s fixture, allowing the cooler breeze and harsh sunlight to stream into the room. “Well now we know how he got out.”

 

He sighed, closing the shutters again as he turned towards the ladder, sliding down the sides as his boots hit the wooden boards with a loud thump. His green eyes fixed on the Golden Path member in charge of this group. “I want him found, quickly. He’s unarmed. Kyrat is still too dangerous to be out alone like this.”

 

“But sir, it’s Ajay. He can handle himself.” The soldier pointed out, his faith in the Son of Mohan was apparent. Sabal shared much the same ideal, that if anyone could do it, Ajay could. 

 

He drew in a deep breath, his voice dropping low to level with the soldier before him. His words firmer, sharper even as he pressed a little harder to gain compliance. “I know well what Ajay is capable of, when he’s at a hundred percent.” Sabal eluded, causing the soldier to frown, his brows creasing with confusion. “Ajay is unwell. He hasn’t been well for some time now. That is why he’s been here this whole time.” The soldier’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do not tell anyone else about this. It could compromise his safety but we need to move quickly before he gets worse. Am I understood?” 

 

“Yes sir.” The man piped up, turning to greet three others who quickly dispatched to the nearby trucks to start their search. Two more units were dispatched. One from Banapur and one other from Tirtha. All of which were searching the surrounding region. Ajay couldn’t get very far on his own without his weapons so he would be limited. Even if he managed to get a hold of a vehicle, he would have to be on the roads where he would inevitably run into Golden Path members. 

  
  
  


 

 

Ajay had never been so happy to see the radio announcer in his life before as he did when he knocked on the door to the Jheel. He heard the sounds inside go quiet, the broadcast fading out as music took over, his knuckles rapped against the hard worn wood of the sun bleached blue door. “Rabi! It’s Ajay! Let me in, please!” Before he even finished speaking, the door had been thrown wide open as he was dragged into the darkness of the studio and wrapped into a crushing hug from the DJ. 

 

“Ajay! Dude! You’re alive! You look like shit but hey, you’re alive!” The man blurted out, incredibly loud in Ajay’s ears, making them ring a little as he winced. “Sorry. Take a seat dude. Where have you been? What the fuck is going on?” Rabi turned towards the massive cardboard box in the corner and barked a few things at the man, the name rising in the foreign sentences before Rabi took a seat on the edge of his desk, giving him his complete and utter attention. 

 

Ajay blinked a few times before he found his way to the offered chair, surprisingly the only thing not covered in clutter. He plopped down with a stiff groan, relaxing into it after a moment. He eased a sigh out of his chest before rubbing the back of his neck in contemplation. Rabi stared at him expectantly but he gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ve been around. Took a bit of a break I guess, once Pagan was dead and all.” He shrugged again.

 

“A break? Ajay, man, I may have already stated this but, bro, you look like shit. You look worse than you did before you jump head on into this shit storm.” Rabi pointed out. That was something Ajay couldn’t exactly deny. Once everything settled down and he had nothing more to keep him distracted, everything just seemed to be catching up to him now. All the bullshit his mind kept pressed into the darkest recesses, focusing on more pressing matters like taking down each of Pagan’s governors and his regime. Without anything to keep him completely occupied, his mind wandered to places he’d rather it not. 

 

“I think the war is finally catching up to me. Feels like the last few months I’ve just been in total shock and once it was over, I was finally coming to my senses.” Ajay sighed, sagging back into the chair. Rabi seemed to go unusually quiet for a few heartbeats before he realized the music was coming to an end. He straightened up and moved around to continue his broadcast. Ajay’s attention flickered up towards the DJ before he hit the mic, a pleading look that begged Rabi not to say anything about his presence over the air. He knew how hard it was to keep the man quiet but this was something that Rabi understood and continued on his way, ranting about honey badgers and talking about how shitty the western media is about what it gives attention to. 

 

Ajay hung out at Rabi’s for some time, after a few beers with the radio host and some good food, which consisted of a bit of bacon and fried rice with some spicy curry, he was dozing off in his chair by noon. His form sagged into the cushions, his head propped up on one elbow as he drifted to the familiar sounds of the radio host and the popular music that used to play all the time. Some of which, Ajay had the tunes memorized at this point. Rabi didn’t bother him during these times, letting him sleep off whatever he had been through, the guy certainly looked like he needed it. With a bit of snooping on the internet in between broadcasts as well as picking up some chatter from surrounding villages, their was strange activity around Kyrat involving the Golden Path. There were mentions in private chat rooms being used by different villages mostly to communicate around the bullshit that was the war. Coded messages mostly, or passing idle gossip back and forth. What couldn’t be sent by word of mouth, passed throughout the country by texting or these chatrooms. Ajay’s name popped up in a handful of them. Overheard radio traffic and idle mentions between Path members that they were looking for the young man. It was enough that they were keeping it hush hush, which alarmed Rabi.

 

Giving Ajay another long glance, he noticed something he hadn’t the first time he had entered. He was about 60 lbs lighter with the absence of weaponry and all the packs he carried on a daily basis. He was also much cleaner, no blood and very little dirt on his clothing. He was cleaned up, the faint scent of generic soap and smoke lingering on him instead of the usual of blood, ash and gunpowder. He gave the man another curious look, his eyes flickering between Ajay and his screen before he noticed something else. It took a minute for him to find a few pictures he had taken with Ajay in the past during the previous hangouts and partying, usually a bit of weed and beer late at night when Ajay needed a place to crash and some time to decompress another another victory against the Royal Army. 

 

He held up the photo of Ajay pulling a long drag of his beer, sitting reclined and relaxed in his chair much the same as he was now, then addressing the sickly pale, slimmer looking man that presently occupied the chair. Back then, he filled it out with all build and muscle that was incredibly intimidating back then, now looked so thin, an eagle could probably snatch him up. His face wasn’t as dark and sunkissed as it used to be, his cheeks were shallow and sunken, the area around his eyes was darkened with bruises from sleeplessness. Hell, he was wasting away before Rabi’s eyes. “What the hell have they done to you, man?” Rabi cursed under his breath, setting his phone down with a weary sigh. 

  
  
  
  


Sabal had half of the Golden Path on the lookout for Ajay, covering the entirety of the south with patrols on top of their usual duties of seeking out and eliminating what’s left of the Royal Army. There was no sign of Ajay whatsoever and this lasted for three whole days, making Sabal increasingly more worried about him. He had the borders covered and the airport was under strict guard making certain he couldn’t run off to America again. Which was highly unlikely since Sabal possessed his passport and all of his identification papers so he’d have a very hard time slipping out of the country let alone leaving the continent. He forced himself to continue with his usual duties, overseeing reports and the progress being made in repairing the old schools and some of the damaged structures. Old bunkers were being made useful as people spread out to reclaim their old homes and dwellings, trying to settle back in the land and work the soil back to use. 

 

It was hard work and they required a lot of outside help, ordering supplies and workers from their neighboring countries but it would take a few weeks before all of that made it. For now, they did what they could with what they had. Many of the little caches around Kyrat on top of the repurposed caches they reclaimed from the Royal Army were enough to keep them going for now. He was busy, traveling between Banapur, Utkarsh and the Palace. He was working on getting the brothels and the Arena shut down or at least place heavier restrictions and guidelines on them but that was a slow process. He didn’t want any more people being forced to occupy those places against their will. Another problem was freeing the prisoners that Yuma had collected, trying to help those they could that weren’t completely lost to Yuma’s influences. Many of them were safer left behind bars, their minds shattered and their behavior far too dangerous to be allowed free. 

 

They reopened the mines, the workers were under better conditions then when they were last occupying the spaces, using far safer methods of extracting what useful resources they could, not having to fear the mercury poisoning. They were even setting controlled fires to burn large swathes of land to rid it of the chemicals that have ruined it, trying to give the soil new life and nutrients. Kyrat was under mass construction and all of its people were pitching in, mostly out of necessity for survival. It took very little urging from Sabal to make this happen. Though, the work was long and slow, having been at it for nearly two months now. 

 

Sabal was just leaving Shanath after a long conversation with the new runner of the Arena, taking a tour of the new changes being done within. How the animals were being kept and who was allowed to fight. He looked through the roster, seeing as the people were paying to fight, sort of a bet on themselves, able to win money back at the end. It wasn’t meant for death matches anymore, but the people would still get their blood. A lot of the animals taken and put inside were wild, driven mad by the drugs that rotted their minds. This fixed a majority of their animals problem, freeing the hunting grounds so they were safer. He conceded, seeing as it was a better option then what was happening before. Baby steps though. 

 

He was tired by the time he slid into the seat of his pick up, making it a short ways down the road back to Banapur just as the sun was reaching the end of it’s day when his radio crackled to life, startling him. The truck that trails along behind him full of Golden Path members slowed with him as he answered the transmission. He nearly slammed on the breaks when he heard a voice inform him that Ajay’s been spotted walking along the roadside towards Chal Jama Monastery. He adjusted his course, taking a left to head for the monastery when he reached an intersection instead of going right for Banapur. As he was nearing the road mentioned, he got another report that Ajay was sitting inside the monastery, praying quietly to himself. He didn’t speak to anybody when he entered and nobody engaged him so he would remain inside. 

 

It didn’t take long before Sabal reached the monastery, leaving the group of Golden Path that followed him to stay by the trucks. They lingered, mingling with the guards present as he walked the many stone steps up to the entryway. Just like the man said, he found Ajay sitting alone in a corner of the monastery, kneeling before a shrine, praying. He had incense burning before him, the grey wispy smoke rising to fill the air with its sweet scent, curling around their bodies as Sabal approached. He didn’t speak a word to the younger man, simply sinking down to his knees beside him and joining him in prayer. It was a rare opportunity for him, to see Ajay actually praying. Usually he was so awkward and uncertain when they would sit in front of the shrines, his gaze flitting around anxiously as if he couldn’t wait to be up and moving again. 

 

Meditation was one of the few times he could ever get Ajay to stay in one place for long periods but prayer, even the mention of religion made Ajay squeamish. Sabal had come to discover part of the reason for that was it reminded him too much of his mother and at other times, it made him look back at his past mistakes, causing him to feel guilty about what he’s done. Not just in Kyrat but back in America even. That was a life Ajay rarely spoke about, when he did he avoided talking about himself directly but would talk about America in general. 

 

The comfortable silence spread out before them as they immersed themselves into prayer, letting the incense take them. This stretched on for what felt like an hour, drifting in and out with the sway of the smoke as it moved around them. Ajay was the first to disturb the quiet, his voice was barely above a whisper, making Sabal think he had missed it. “I’m sorry Sabal.” The rebel leader turned his gaze to meet the younger man, finding his expression was sullen, his gaze downcast as his shoulders dropped to something far more pitiful. It made the strain on his body all the more noticeable. His poor appearance, his fading health and weariness. Sabal has lived his entire life in war, yet Ajay looked like he was carrying every shadow and death that occurred in it, upon his own two shoulders, on the verge of collapsing beneath the weight. 


	9. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this entire chapter the morning after the last two but i did it on it's phone and didn't realize it was finished until i gave it another look tonight. So enjoy! Please leave a comment below on what you think/like/have questions about. ^.^

After the apology at the Monastery, Sabal offered they should go someplace quiet and far more private to talk. Ajay had been expecting that place to be Mohan’s home, but he was incorrect. In fact, they made their way to Banapur but they didn’t stop there. Making the trek up around the village on the dirt paths towards the abandoned shack overlooking the lake and hills below. It had been cleaned up and fixed since he had last been inside it, becoming a makeshift living quarters for who he assumed to be, was Sabal’s. There was a pack of Kyrati Royal cigarettes sitting on the table, barely touched. Candles sat around it, the only source of light when night falls.

 

He assumed Sabal makes regular trips into Banapur to pray at the makeshift shrine in the village with the others due to the lack of one here. Ajay remembers a few times he'd catch the rebel standing before it, murmuring sutras in Nepalese, occasionally an elderly woman and her granddaughter would join him, kneeling down on either side. Other times, he'd find him pitching in, sweeping the steps leading down to the terraces, scrubbing the blood stains off the stonework, fixing up broken structures that were damaged during Pagan’s first attack not long after Ajay’s arrival.

 

The man was certainly living for the people. Ajay would have to admit, he'd followed the man on his off days, just to see who he really was. To see him smile as he tended to the people, breaking bread with the young children after they'd been planting the new harvest all morning, carrying baskets of flowers down to the lakeside pyres with the elderly women who lost loved ones. Helping butcher a bharal or a wild boar after a successful hunt to help feed the village. All the things Amita would scoff at and shame as ‘women's work’ and would rant about Sabal’s traditional ideals of putting women in their place, all Ajay saw was a man that cared deeply about his people and his community. A man, Ajay fell madly in love with.

 

All he ever saw Amita doing was working on more reports and obsessing over intel, never leaving her office unless it could get her ahead of Sabal or could keep Bhadra at a distance from them both.

 

These days, the man Ajay once knew so well and loved so fiercely that he had pledged himself to him, would come and go like the flickering shadows around a campfire. He ached to see that man again, even now he feared that man was but a facade resting like a calm surface on a lake full of demon fish. He wasn't sure he could really trust what he was seeing anymore, not just because of what Yuma had done to him but because of Sabal’s wavering ideals and morals. Because of how twisted this war had made him, had made them both. Ajay knew Kyrat was going to change him, hell, even Ishwari knew which was why she hadn't told him the truth until after her death. If she was here now, he'd be ashamed for her to see the man he's become. So broken and easily misguided. He tried so fucking hard to make things right by her, to bring her back to the Kyrat she once knew and loved. Sadly, it was a Kyrat long since dead and his actions sealed that fate.

 

Ajay was drawn out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, his mind trying to recollect what was going on when he realized he had dropped to his knees within the shack, his fingers clenched into tight fists. Sabal had been saying something but Ajay’s ears were ringing too loudly as if a flash bang had gone off beside him. The rebel’s lips moved with concern creasing his features as he repeated the same syllables again and again, the hand on his shoulder giving another firm shake until the world came back into focus. He blinked blankly a few times as the rebel called his name once more, another conflicted look on Ajay’s features reassured the man that he was at least lucid. “Sabal?”

 

“Thank Kyra!” Sabal praised, his tone dripping with relief and genuine gratitude as his hand gave another firm squeeze. “You blacked out on me there for a little bit. I've been trying to get your attention for fifteen minutes, brother.”

 

“I-” Ajay started, looking around the room as he placed where he was. It was still small like he remembered with a meager kitchen setup in the corner and the neatly made bed taking up a good quarter of the space inside. There was a larger table near the kitchen, Sabal’s rifle and ammo pack was sitting sprawled out on it, freshly cleaned. The faint scent of oil present still. He bit his lip in contemplation. “I don't know what's happening.” He finally admitted, releasing a deep breath as his gaze fixed on the floor between them. He couldn't bring himself to meet the rebel’s gaze, his fingers clenched into tighter fists, a nervous action as they relaxed slowly then tightened again.

 

“Ajay, look at me. Please, brother.” He urged, the hand on his shoulder giving a softer squeeze, more reassuring this time, to coax him into bringing down the heavily fortified walls he's been hiding behind for so long. “Let me help you. Please.” He pleaded, his voice genuine in his request.

 

Ajay raised his eyes as Sabal’s calloused fingers touched the tip of his chin, a silent inquiry that he permitted. Those jade green orbs were just as spectacular at the day Sabal dug him out of the avalanche outside of Banapur. “I don't know what's real anymore.”

 

Sabal frowned, brows creasing for a moment in puzzlement before his free hand took one of Ajay’s clenched fists. His fingers coaxed Ajay’s to unfurl before easing off the brown leather glove that kept his hands covered. Ajay sucked in a sharp breath as their fingers intertwined, bare warm skin weaving together as Sabal spoke. “I'm real.” He assured, drawing Ajay’s hand closer to his chest. “This right here brother, this is real.” The younger man could feel the strong beat of Sabal’s heart, the way it thrummed within his chest, wrapped in a familiar warmth Ajay used to seek solace and comfort in. “Whatever is going on, Ajay, I am here and prepared to do whatever I can to ease your burdens and fears.”

 

Ajay wanted so badly for that to be true. So much so, he ached for it. A painful twisting inside him that begged to let the man in. That this has gone on for long enough. He was so tired of fighting, of killing and dying over and over again. He wanted it all to stop, for things to go back to the way they were, of course it wasn't perfect but people were more alive back then. There was more fire in the eyes of those he met, more determination and hope. Now, everything looked dead to him, even himself. He was done fighting, rather it was himself or the hallucinations or whatever else that continued to rip him apart, he was okay with just letting it happen. In taking a chance that this was in fact real, that this was the same man he had fallen in love with so long ago.

 

With a heavy sigh, he let his walls come crashing down, letting it all crumble away piece by wretched piece. He opened his mouth and it all came tumbling out. He told Sabal about everything. The nightmares, the visions, the Rakshasa and what Yuma had done to him during his stay in Durgesh Prison. He explained why he wasn't eating, wasn't sleeping and his sudden snap at the sight of blood. How numb he was during the initial war but now, how idle time had taken its toll on his mind. Even explaining how much of a wreck he was trying to reassimilate back into life in the States, to the point he even seriously considered seeking out a professional to fix whatever Yuma or Kyrat broke inside him.

 

Sabal listened intently, his expression made of stone at times when Ajay would expect outrage or anger, then it would soften with sympathy and concern when he'd speak of the more raw and broken parts of himself. He would provide the occasional nod or hum of acknowledgement, a brief calming or reassuring touch to his arm, shoulder or back when the situation called for it. It almost felt like the old Sabal was sitting beside him.

 

When Ajay finished what he had to say, Sabal quietly rose to his feet and moved towards the kitchen, setting a kettle of water to boil and placing two cups on the table with tea bags inside. He didn't speak but his expression was thoughtful, as if he was seriously taking in everything Ajay had said. When he returned to the younger man’s side, he held out a hot cup of tea to him before resuming his kneeling position on the floor. Ajay sipped at the herbal brew, letting the bag steep a little more to make it stronger. Ajay was dreading the conversation to come, his brown orbs fixed on the soft hazel brew in his hands. He focused on the steam rising up and the herbal aroma curling around his nostrils with every shaky inhale. The slight tremor of the liquid in his unsteady grasp, trying not to imagine how crazy and unhinged he just admitted to being. Ignoring the images that jumped across his mind of Sabal putting him down like any other wild and uncontrollable animal. Just like Ajay has done so many times before.

 

When Sabal did finally manage to speak, breaking the nearly suffocating silence and freeing Ajay from his rampant imagination, he was quiet and reserved. “I won't claim to know how a person's mind works, especially after what Kyrat has been through, what _you_ have been through. But I wish to offer whatever help I can to see you heal. You more than deserve that. I wish to see you well again, Ajay.” He stated firmly, not in a commanding way, but to show he truly meant it, believed in it.

 

Ajay released a shaky breath, letting the tea cup rest in front of him. He didn't trust himself enough not to spill or break it. “Thank you Sabal.”

 

Sabal nodded, a warm smile rising to his lips as he sipped at his drink. He relaxed more visibly now, as if some of his worries had melted away with the tea. His brilliant green orbs rose to meet Ajay’s as he nodded towards the cup. “Drink your tea and get some rest, brother. You've had a long day.” He murmured. Ajay conceded without any protest, taking the first warm sip, letting it pool into his belly and fill him up with a comfortable heat. It was pleasant against the cooler mountain air the clung to his skin much like all the dirt and sweat he manages to be covered in.

 

This easy silence stretched on with only the soft sway of the trees outside the little cabin, dancing in the breeze with branches brushing together causing ghostly whispers on the wind. It was strange, finding peace and quiet in Kyrat. Not so long ago gunfire was rampant all hours of the day or night. Explosive sounds that kept him awake at night and reminded him that he was living in a highly active war zone. In retrospect, it wasn’t too far off from the rougher neighborhoods back in the states. The rapid bursts of automatic rifles replaced by the peppering shots of handguns going off during drive by shootings or police raids. They didn’t exactly live in a rough part of town, but some of Ajay’s friends did and the first time he spent the night at their place, he feared a bullet would come right through the walls and kill him in his sleep. His mother often warned him away from those places but he was young, brash and thought he knew far more then she did. He wasn’t feeling that way when he walked into a police station and ended up in handcuffs by the end of the night, his hands still shaky and tears still fresh on his face as the reality of his life coming to an end came crashing down on top of him.

 

Looking back now, he was stupid and gullible. Maybe even go so far as to consider himself as weak, like Yuma had claimed about him so many times. Still, he had the strength to stand on his own two feet and decide what was right and wrong. He knew what he had to do, despite the consequences that followed. His mother had been proud of him because of that, because he didn’t run and hide like his friends did. He never wanted anyone to get hurt and took responsibility for it.  Yet, that landed him here. Torn apart in a foreign war, standing on the winning side with all the guilt of the world on his shoulders. He never wanted anyone to get hurt, yet he had taken lives with his own two hands, by the hundreds, just to save a few thousand. In the eyes of Kyra, even one life for the sake of ten didn’t seem like reason enough to shed blood. He knew there was no place in this world, or even in the next for people like him. People who kill with false reason. Rather it be for the _cause_ or for _survival_ or even for _sport._ In the end it was all the same.

 

He released a heavy sigh as he finished his tea, letting his thoughts linger for a moment more on the events that led him here, to this very point. His gaze rising as they were banished to the back of his mind, taking in the observant green hues that were fixed on him. There was a swirling pool of emotion churning up the exotic flecks and colors that burned so brightly in the faint candlelight. He couldn’t rightly decipher what was going through Sabal’s mind at the moment but the look he was giving Ajay, made him wish the man would never avert it. It was as if he were trying to figure out an intense puzzle or a hard strategy, the way he’d gaze at maps of compounds and outposts, guarded on most sides by unreachable cliffs, trying to find the right opening or vulnerability to get at it. To break through those walls and capture what was within.

  
It was a look that Sabal hadn’t given him in a _long_ time and it made something inside him ache to close the space between them. To rekindle what they once had, to explore further but he didn’t. He held where he was, keeping Sabal’s gaze until the man’s lips turned into a fond smile. He quietly collected their empty cups and returned to the kitchen. “Get some rest Ajay.” He urged once more, giving a brief sway of his hand towards the bed in the corner. Ajay nodded, pushing himself up to his feet and feeling the sleep lingering in his legs. He emitted a weary sigh as he kicked off his shoes and shucked off his jacket, folding it up neatly to sit on the side table. His gloves followed after leaving him in his worn and faded jeans and the dark t-shirt underneath. He sank down into the bed, the firm mattress left something to be desired but it was heaven compared to the rickety old belltowers he had been spending his nights in. That and Rabi’s chair at the bunker. It was enough that his eyes fluttered shut the moment he got comfortable and sleep quickly consumed him.


	10. Homely

It had been a long time since he last had a restful sleep, longer since he last had one without vivid nightmares plaguing him. Before it had been his problems and stresses back in America. The incident with the shooting and then his mother’s illness. After her death, he was haunted by the loss, dreaming of her and waking in cold sweats,his body wracked between frantic sobs and panicked gasps to catch his breath. Grief wasn’t something he handled well. She had been the only thing in his life, his rock, his support and now that she was gone, he was falling apart. Here in Kyrat, he had found that same shoulder to lean on when he had met Sabal. Their relationship grew over time and surprisingly enough, Sabal shared the same feelings Ajay did. The older man’s presence in his bed was a blessing to his nights, chasing away all the bad little feelings that would rise when he was alone, allowing him to surrender to blissful sleep. 

 

This time was no exception and the very reason for that was, Ajay realized when he opened his eyes. The elder man was carefully tucked up on the edge of the bed. It was a tight fit between them, with the both of them sleeping on their sides and neither really moved much in their sleep. A respectful space was left between them, a good three or four inch gap that was closer to two inches between their legs, knees partly bent and leaning towards each other. His expression was peaceful, completely relaxed, giving the idea that the man was closer to Ajay’s age instead of ten years his elder. He was still so young, the ravages of time and war had left their marks in the scars on his face but they only seemed to better accentuate his fair features, the sharper cheekbones, the firmness of his jaw, the soft stubble that worked around his mouth. Something that used to bother Ajay on other people that seemed to only add more charm in Sabal’s case. 

 

Everything about Sabal made him seem so much younger, rather it was his devout faith, the energy in which he carried out all of his tasks, the spiteful determination underlying it. He was a young man with an ancient soul, to say the least. An attribute Ajay had admired in his own mother and found equally as respectable in Sabal. It made him believe a little more in reincarnation when he was around the both of them. Their kindness, the immense wisdom they harbored and the warmth in their eyes that softened in his presence to the point of being under threat of melting. The soft praises and gentle touches they would provide when he seemed troubled or uncertain. If it wasn’t for Sabal, he wasn’t sure he would have made it this long. In fact, he’d probably still be stuck in De Pleur’s mansion or buried beneath the avalanche outside of Banapur or maybe even been eaten by a tiger by now. 

 

He couldn't stifle the smile at that last one considering how close he had gotten to that being his end on many occasions. Though, a tiger was far more preferable and a quicker cleaner kill them should he fall into the enraged sights of a honey badger. They just don’t give a shit. He's tried everything to deter them, shooting off his rifle, throwing a molotov at them, grenades, even tossing bait out in the opposite direction. They just don't care and would rather rip him apart. He couldn't count how many times he's be stuck up in belltowers cause a honey badger was lurking down below or when he's climbed cliff faces out of sheer desperation to get out of one's reach. Hell, he even had one chase him down even while he was riding an elephant through the thicker countryside. Those little fuckers have balls of steel.

 

He shuddered as his troubled life with honey badgers passed before his eyes, not realizing the green orbs that were watching him reminisce the less traumatic days spent in Kyrat. He breathed a deep relaxed sigh as he tilted his head back into the pillow. His eyes fluttered shut, soaking in the calm of the morning. They opened slowly when fingers brushed against his cheek, a light touch that could have easily been missed. His eyes lifted to meet Sabal’s green hues, a curious look resting in his eyes as they met the fond expression leveled at him. “Did I wake you?” Ajay asked softly, breaking the silence.

 

He shook his head slowly, his fingertips rising along his jawline, trailing up into the shaggy dark strands as he combed them through. “Sleep well?”

 

This time was Ajay’s turn to quietly nod, his thoughts drifting briefly to recall what it was he dreamed about but it eluded him. He considered that a good thing, since he felt so peaceful and at ease when he awoke. “Yeah, actually.” His lips tilted up into a soft smile as he turned his gaze towards the older man. He tilted his head into the touch, feeling Sabal’s fingers roaming through his hair in slow strokes, leaving trails through the dark mess. This situation was so familiar to Ajay, the fingers on his skin, the comfortable calm between them, the closeness. It was just like the early days of their relationship, when everything was good and they had found their niche with each other. No awkwardness between them. Just completely at ease with everything about the other. It actually, wasn’t long after their first intimate time together. The morning after if he remembered correctly, in the communal house of Banapur. Everyone was busy celebrating their first big victory against De Pleur and the Royal Army so they had the structure to themselves. 

 

“We should probably get up and start the day.” Ajay offered softly, though he made no intention to move first. He didn’t mind how they were at the moment, even desired to stay like this but the little voice in the back of his head reminded him that what they had was gone now. That the opportunity was long since lost. He could hope and pray to Kyra all he wanted, but there was no going back to when things were good like that. Where they were good like that. Too much has happened. Neither of them were the same people from back then and he convinced himself that it could never work that way again. That  _ this _ would never work like it used to. 

 

Sabal’s gaze fell, sinking a little, taking the softer light with it as he sighed and nodded in agreement. “You’re right.” He breathed, making the first move as he rolled over, his feet dangling over the edge of the bed and meeting the wood boards, stirring up a soft groan from the floor as he put his weight  on it, wrangling his boots back on and lacing them up with quick succession. He was already moving into the kitchen to set the kettle on the stove when Ajay finally mustered the energy to push himself to the edge of the bed and dredge up where he kicked his sneakers to. By the time he was dressed more appropriately, with his jacket tugged on and zipped up, gloves covering his battered hands and sneakers slipped on, Sabal had the tea ready and was handing a cup over to him to start the day with. 

 

If anything, Ajay knew Sabal’s routine better than anyone else. Tea then prayer in the village, then whatever the duties of the day called for. He would take small breaks throughout when permitted for quiet peaceful moments to himself to seek out Kyra’s guidance, something that Amita would rant about incessantly. Ajay never saw a problem with Sabal’s praying. Amita would go on about how the Gods weren’t going to solve all their problems and how hard work would do that, but the decisions Sabal makes after long sessions of prayer, were usually his best decisions. He always addressed the needs of the people and the lives of those fighting, seeking the route of less casualty but higher reward. Sometimes that reward was keeping his men alive to fight another. Ajay’s thoughts dipped back to when he had woken up after his escape from Durgesh Prison. Sabal was kneeling at his bedside, praying for his safety and recovery. Nobody in the Golden Path knew he was up there or even that he had made a trip into the Mountains with Willis. Yet, Sabal knew he was in trouble, had told him Kyra showed him where to look when Ajay had been missing for a week. They found him just in time and all of that was thanks to Sabal. 

 

Ajay was never the religious type, not really one to believe like the masses that congregate to temples, shrines and churches. Since coming here to Kyrat, he’s learned to believe. He’s seen far too many questionable things for him not to believe there was a divine hand in this country’s path. Especially when it came to Sabal, the man swelled with spirit, just from his presence alone. Much the same as his mother had. 

 

These thoughts danced around his mind as he sipped quietly at his tea. His gaze lifting when he realized Sabal had started speaking to him. He missed the first few words that were said but he quickly tuned into the rest. “..I believe I have an idea as to how to help your current situation. I know you’re not very fond of religion, Ajay, but I hope you are open to try this. We’re limited on our options for medical care, mental health being something Kyrat could definitely use but it will take some time to get professionals into the country who are willing to work with us.” He explained, shifting his cup in his palm, turning it slowly as he considered his proposal, those green orbs meeting Ajay’s with question, that bright spark rising with hope he will accept. 

 

“I don’t see why not. It's not like it can hurt any.” Ajay affirmed as he took another drink of the tea. At this point, he was out of options and anything Sabal could come up with would be worth a try. Especially if it works for others, it could work for him as well. 

 

Sabal’s lips turned up into a larger smile as he nodded at Ajay’s acceptance. Quiet settled between them, comfortable but there was a light buzz of energy coming off of the older man now. Ajay could see the gears working in his mind, the excitement that follows whenever he can introduce the younger to a new aspect of his beliefs and his culture. 

  
  
  
  


By mid-afternoon, they found themselves standing outside of a shrine not too far from Banapur. It was known by the locals as Kyra’s Refuge. Within was a massive chamber with a giant golden Kyra statue deep inside, pyres and candles lighting the darkness with offerings resting on the altars around the shrine. Small prayer cushions were gathered within and dispersed around the room for visitors to use during meditation and reflection. Which Sabal had explained on the way, was something they were going to try. This time the focus was more specific. “You mentioned before brother, that Yuma’s visions had been the source of your hallucinations lately.” He started as he rearranged a few of the cushions to sit before the altar, lighting a fresh batch of incense he had brought with him. “I want you to use that as your focus during this session. Meditate on those visions, draw out their power over you, find their weaknesses. You should be able to sever their ties to your consciousness.”

 

He turned to address Ajay, gesturing to him to take a seat, dropping down into lotus position, mimicking Sabal’s posture and breathing pace. “They have power over you because you allow them that. You must reclaim control over yourself.” 

 

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” Ajay raised a confused brow at Sabal who gave him a pointed look. 

 

Sabal released a deep breath, letting his body relax into the position, melting away the tension that had nestled into his shoulders. “I’m afraid you will need to discover that on your own, brother.” He gestured for Ajay to begin, following his pace as they inhaled the freshly burning incense. He let the tingling cloud settle over his thoughts, spreading out throughout the rest of his body, numbing it to the world around him as he surrendered his senses to the sweetly scented smoke and the lull of his own mind. 


	11. Home Field Advantage

The dim firelight swayed back and forth from the candles littered around the room. The cold wisps of mountain air ghosted through the empty chamber, causing them to dance and flicker, casting shadows across the walls and twisting the welcoming open embrace and the comforting relaxed features of the Kyra statue into a vile demon laced in shadows, lurking on the edges of the cave ready to lunge for him any second. His dark eyes scanned the room, feeling an unsettling chill creeping up his spine, even through the thicker layers of his clothing. He couldn’t remember why he was here in the first place. He only vaguely remembered the cave, maybe from previous explorations? He wasn’t sure.

 

The dust was thick in places, layering the altar and the older offerings, usually silver and copper coins and paper currency of the Kyrati rupees. The air and weather was causing some of them to rot and decay. The air inside was stagnant, a harsh stuffiness that made it harder to breathe, like being inside an old cramped wardrobe or untouched storage closet.

 

He couldn’t recall why he had come here but every glance or thought towards leaving would cause a twisting knot of pain and guilt in his chest. He lingered near the statue for some time, contemplating his options. There was nothing here for him, nothing of use or want. He had better things to do, somewhere else. _What were they?_ He only felt the vague inclination in the back of his mind that he had a reason for being here. That he had something he _had_ to see through. He paced within the chamber, teasing at the edges but never quite crossing the threshold of the cave towards the opening where daylight shone in, bright and inviting. Where the warmth of the sun presented itself. Instead he remained in the cold, damp darkness of the cave with the fading candlelight at his back and the nip of the walls dripping down his neck. He felt like a caged tiger, wanting to leave but having no power to do so himself.

 

 _“You’re weak.”_ The voice carried on the air, drifting around him with its cold sharp bite, twisting the syllables until they were unrecognizable. He couldn’t place where they had come from or who they had come from. Many voices were layered over top of them, melting together. Sharp and feminine, a tone that had plagued him once before and something much more masculine, but soft and deadly, plucking at the fringes of his mind.

 

He turned to face the source, searching the shadows for a familiar silhouette. The dark lieutenant's jacket was a striking shadow in his mind. A flickering of pink hair in the darkness, before it distorted to another more familiar set of jade green eyes. Ajay couldn’t make out which it was. Yuma or Sabal? The faces were a blur as they lurked along the edges of the room, where the light didn’t quite reach. A casual stride, boots clicking the floor with ominous echoes as their relaxed posture was off putting. It was laid back but still demanded respect and governed a portion of complete and total control over their surroundings and those that occupied it. _“A simpering shell of a man.”_

 

Each verbal assault was another dagger like stab to his chest. The words reminisced of Yuma but those eyes, they were all Sabal. Predatory and dark, a blood lust driving beneath. A determined tone that echoed back to the events at Jalendu Temple. _“Sins against the gods must be cleansed away with blood.”_ Ajay took a step towards the figure as it melted away into shadows. He paused in his strides, looking around in confusion, his fingers curled into tight fists before the voice rang in his ears again. A sharp hiss against his neck. “Where do your loyalties lie, brother?”

 

He whirled around quickly, turning to find those green orbs staring him down, but a hair’s breadth away from his face. His voice caught in his throat as the man’s posture summed up all the dominance of a tiger, it’s teeth bared and ready to take command, to sink into his jugular for the killing blow. He held there for what seemed like forever, his lungs burning in his chest as he released a slow breath. Sickening manic laughter broke from Sabal’s throat, a twisted smile that made his fair and charming features turn much darker. Ajay recoiled, stumbling back into the open arms of the statue, barring him in on either side. Sabal’s hand reached out, causing him to flinch away from the touch, the fingers brushing against his cheek ever so softly, a feather light gesture that held all the menace of a viper. His nails dragging across his skin, scraping lightly until they caressed his jaw, forcing his gaze to meet those expecting emeralds. Their glistening hue was diminished by the dark clouds swelling up like the lake bed during a terrible storm. Swirling waves and powerful torrents churning it into a disarray, shattering the natural beauty and serenity it was so well known for.

 

“Who do you side with?” The voice broke through the suffocating silence, the grip on his jaw tightened as those eyes bore into him. Ajay swallowed thickly, feeling the sweat trickle down the back of his neck, sliding down his skin like icy fingers crawling across him. He made a choked sound, his voice failing to form words, only provided terrified whimpers. A gust swelled through the room, casting out the light of the candles and dredging them into darkness. A pale light illuminated above him, broken and cold, as arms wrapped around him, long sickly white appendages clawing and grasping at him, coated in the smattering of blue powder. Sabal’s presence remained before him, green eyes staring through the haunting blue mask upon his face as he uttered a sharp hiss with the rest of the vile demons clamoring and clutching at him, dragging him back into the statue. He fought to get free, his head whipping around to seek leverage. His gaze finding the calm and loving features of Kyra had become the ghoulish traits of Yalung.

 

Ajay cried out as Sabal’s hands clutched at his shoulders, driving him back into the awaiting arms of the Rakshasa. He grappled back, holding onto the elder man’s forearms and wrists, trying to find leverage, to stay on this side, fearing the light at his back and where it would take him. Sabal gave another hard shove but Ajay pulled him closer, his feet finding purchase as his fingers scrambled over Sabal’s wrists, tightening his grip in the absence present. His eyes flickered down to find the dark beads that were an ever present trait for the elder man, worn away with time and his own thoughtful rubbing between his fingers, was painfully missing. Ajay’s fears were pushed back briefly, giving him some semblance of control as he assured himself this wasn’t real. This wasn’t _his_ Sabal. This was another hallucination or a dream. Anything but his reality, which had become so frail and fragile these last few months.

 

He released his grip on the fake Sabal, raising his fist to strike out at him. He felt the heat of blood pool over his hands upon impact, the liquid spreading to soak into the fabric of his clothing. His eyes lowered to find Kalinag’s blade in his hand, a weapon against the Rakshasa. The false Sabal screeched out at him, pale hands clawing at his torso as he receded into a fading blue smoke, falling away. The hands that were grappling his body released as well, the swell of pale light rushing up around him as he teetered back, barely balancing on the edge before it snapped out into an impenetrable darkness.

  
  
  
  


Ajay blinked slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight of the cave, his gaze roaming around as he took in his surroundings. The warmth of the room was a welcoming presence, the sunlight pooling in at the entrance with fresh air drifting in and out. Crisp, clean and fulfilling with every breath, working away the fading scent of the incense. He found himself sprawled across a few of the older cushions, his head resting on two of them to offer some kind of support against the hard stone ground. The altar was littered with candles, the flames still burning brightly, illuminating the statue of Kyra and the relaxed posture of a familiar figure. Sabal remained in lotus position, his eyes closed, chest rising and falling in slow deep breaths, a carefully measured pace. The prayer beads still wrapped around his wrist, reflecting some of the light back as Sabal’s palms remained pressed together in prayer.

 

He slowly pushed himself up so he was sitting up, giving a pitiful groan as his hips protested the movement. Despite the cushions, the stone still left pressure points of pain on his body, drawing muffled winces out as he tried to stretch. “Feel better, brother?” Sabal’s voice broke the silence, remaining soft and comforting. Nowhere near the sharp hisses and growls of the other Sabal.

 

Ajay paused, searching for his voice and his words. He didn’t really know how he felt, it wasn’t exactly what he thought it was going to be. It was one thing for the Rakshasa to make an appearance, or even Yuma but this time- this time it left him even more unsettled. At least he knew Yuma was dead and Kalinag had banished the Rakshasa from Shangri-la. This new phantom that lurked in his mind, it had evolved and became something Ajay couldn’t run from. His only consolation was that he was awake and present, where the demons lurking in his mind couldn’t reach him.

 

“I’m not really sure.” Ajay’s voice was unsteady, a nervous lilt drawing Sabal’s gaze towards him, brows furrowed in concern.

 

“What do you mean?” Ajay’s thoughts drifted, reflecting back to the look Sabal had given him, twisted in manic laughter, far too close for comfort. He flinched, the fear shedding across his features before he could stop it.

 

His shoulders sagged as he averted his gaze, running his gloved fingers through his hair with a nervousness. “I don’t know. It-” His voice caught in his throat, trailing off a heavy sigh as he considered what to say. “It wasn’t like all the other times.” He tried to explain. “It’s all so confusing.” He ran his fingers over his face, hiding behind them so he wouldn’t have to meet Sabal’s eyes. He heard the man shift closer, felt the hand slowly come to rest on his shoulder, a gentle familiar touch that eased some of the tension knotted up in his back. His head hung but Sabal didn’t try to interfere, letting Ajay try to work his way through whatever he had seen.

 

“Take your time, brother. This was not a one time fix. It will take many more before the shadows go away.” Sabal explained, his voice dancing around his ears, luring him out of his hunched posture as he finally met Sabal’s green orbs. They were bright, carrying their usual spark within, the spirit and desire that was ever present. The hand on his shoulder gave a comforting squeeze, accompanied by a warm smile; genuine and real.

 

“It’s getting late. We should head back.” He urged, giving Ajay a way out should he feel he needs it.

 

Ajay gave a nod of understanding, his hand raising to cup over Sabal’s, keeping the touch to his shoulder just a little longer as he tilted his head into his wrist. He felt the coolness of the prayer beads against his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut as he held onto the older man’s hand with fondness, fingers interweaving, using it as his anchor in this world. Where everything was real and honest and true. Where the warmth of the other’s skin carried the scent of herbal tea and incense. Where the simplest touch of prayer beads proved the differences in reality.

 

Sabal showed no intention to move away, soft green eyes observing Ajay’s unusual behavior. It wasn’t exactly negative but Sabal knew the other man enough to realize whatever he had witnessed during his meditation was deeply upsetting. It just meant he needed to tread more carefully now.

 

“Thank you, Sabal.” Ajay murmured, his eyes opening as he gave a worn glance at the elder man. His lips twitching up into a tired smile as Sabal nodded in acceptance.

 

“Certainly brother. Anything I can do to help, I will.” He assured, his silky voice drifting between them, further ensnaring Ajay towards the man. It helped push those vile screeches and images of the intimidating posture of the fake Sabal off to the far reaches of his mind, keeping them safely at bay while he reasserted his grip on this world. “Come. It’s a long walk back before nightfall.” Sabal reminded, urging Ajay to finally relinquish his hold on his arm. They turned to gather their things, snuffing out the candles and incense before departing for the night.


	12. House Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had this chapter sort of planned to go completely differently but I ended up changing it last minute as I was writing it. This applies to several other chapters I've written so far. I had long ideas planned and figured out and last minute, I changed it because, well, the characters just seem to write themselves and shit happens.
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoy it. Please leave a comment below on what you think. Don't forget to kudos. Enjoy!

A couple days had passed since their visit to Kyra’s Refuge. Ajay had been spending the days trailing around behind Sabal as he flits from one duty to the next. A majority of it being centered around Banapur, helping with the idle chores around the village. Occasionally making trips up to Kanan’s Farm to help her with her pigs. Ajay seemed to pick up a bit more energy when all the sows escaped their pen. He had a considerable amount of experience in handling the hogs from his own back at the homestead, making it a swift if not comical task to carry out. He had tripped up on tree roots and slipped in the mud more times then he could count and Sabal had done no better. By the end, they were both in dire need of a bath and a few laughs deeper into conversation, easing the tension between them as things settled to how it used to be.

 

The people seemed more relaxed in the village with Ajay’s presence. The Golden Path soldiers stationed around Banapur would greet him with smiles and excitement, some would even ask him to help out with a few favors, which Sabal would usher him along with approval. The rebel was never very far from Ajay and vice versa. With their days busy with a strict routine, it kept Ajay’s visions and episodes at bay. When he’d sleep, Sabal would be pressed up against him, assuring even his nightmares would be a distant memory. His arms snaked around Ajay’s torso, more out of comfort then anything more intimate. At least, that’s what Ajay had told himself when he allowed the gesture.

 

By the fourth day, they made a trip into the village with no real agenda in mind. Sabal had something up his sleeve but wouldn’t divulge to Ajay until they reached the hill overlooking the village. The people were bustling and gathered near the communal housing, lined up anxiously. Many of them were the elderly or young mothers with little children. Some were Golden Path soldiers who had been injured during the war, still working under Sabal but nursing old wounds. Some of that was the very reason why they were stationed in Banapur and not out on patrols or doing the heavier work around the country.

 

When they approached the housing, Sabal spoke briefly to a female soldier in their native tongue. The woman nodded and slipped inside, coming back out a moment later to relay information back to Sabal. Ajay watched the exchange as they waited quietly. Several minutes passed by before the red door opened and an elderly woman was chatting up a young american woman with long sandy blonde hair tied up neatly. Her uniform was adorned with the white garb of a doctor, marked with the medical crest over her breast and the agency she was practicing with. The elderly woman was smiling as they spoke back and forth in the native dialect before she turned to see Sabal and Ajay standing beside the entrance. “Mr. Ghale I presume?” She greeted, hazel eyes settling on Ajay specifically, directing her question to show she knew who he was.

 

“Ajay is fine.” He returned, a bit apprehensive at first. She kept up her warm smile as she gestured for him to enter, Sabal trailing behind him and closing the door to ensure their privacy.

 

The communal house was set up as a makeshift medical practice, giving the appearance that she was planning on staying a while. She directed him to have a seat on the edge of the bed to which he did so, albeit begrudgingly. “Sabal?” Ajay gave the elder man a pointed look, asking why exactly he was here and why the doctor seemed to be expecting him without the need to vocalize it. The woman seemed to sense the discontent and let the two talk it out while she situated her tools and belongings, getting ready for the next patient.

 

Sabal gave a tired sigh, leaning back against the wall beside the door, his arms folded as he observed Ajay’s posture. “I thought it would be beneficial for you to get checked out like everyone else.”

 

“I already got checked out when I went back to the States.” Ajay said flatly, his hands resting in his lap, fingers curled with tension at the reminder of how that trip turned out.

 

“Yes, I know.” He returned, which Ajay had already told him about during the rest of his confession. “But your health hasn’t been in the best state since then and it never hurts to be on the safe side.” There was a pressure there, urging at a part of Ajay who knew very well how important that was. It’s part of what led to his presence in Kyrat in the first place. It was enough to force him into submission, giving up any other attempts at protest.

 

“Fine.” He gave in, a verbal signal to the doctor that it was safe for her to resume her work.

 

She started out with basic questions, bringing up the topic of the States and Ajay’s home. It seemed to be enough to work out the remaining tension as he spoke of familiar terrain. They talked about where they were from and grew up, about their hobbies and what he missed most about back home. Ajay wasn’t a talkative person to start with, but certain topics get him riled up and excited and America was a topic the man couldn’t stop talking about. His lips curled up into a smile, uttering a few laughs here and there in between the tasks being carried out. It was easier that way, giving him a distraction.

 

It lasted until towards the end of the check up when he was asked to remove his shirt. The woman was inspecting his older injuries to ensure they had healed properly and there were no problems with tissue production or underlying infection that may go unnoticed otherwise. His gaunt frame was littered in scars, to the point the doctor seemed to be taken aback. She had already seen quite a few of their soldiers and tended to their older injuries but Ajay was a mess under that jacket. Fresh and old wounds mingling together to the point it was hard to decipher what started where and where it ended. Ajay’s talkative demeanor had fallen quiet as he inspected a handful of his own injuries. Some of which were from his own hand and others that were inflicted upon him. A few given to him by Sabal himself.

 

The doctor didn’t talk all that much anymore, her tone returning to a more professional presence as she finished up her examination. She inquired to him about any pain he feels from them and if he has problems when the weather turns bad. He remained mostly quiet, assuring that it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle or that it was just small aches that were no big deal. Then she asked about his sleeping habits and how well he was eating. Sabal reassured her that they were improving under his watchful eye. Ajay only nodded in agreement. He couldn’t argue with that. Sabal was making a very positive impact on his status compared to how he used to be.

 

Ajay was relieved when he was allowed to get dressed again. She gave him an updated vaccination that was a recent addition he may have missed during his last check up in America. Sabal was about to usher them out when the doctor snagged him back and decided to give him a quick once over as well since he was already there. The rebel seemed less approving of this and managed to wriggle free of her clutches but not without a vaccination, accompanied by a colorful band-aid that matched Ajay’s on his arm. Ajay snickered in amusement as Sabal pulled his jacket back on and they both were free to leave the confines of the communal house, both reduced to silence, mostly out of the fact Sabal was still ruffled by the doctor’s audacity, quietly rubbing at his arm like a wounded kitten. Ajay couldn’t conceal his smirk and let it spread when they reached the hill above Banapur, heading back to the rebel’s little cabin.

 

They stayed at the cabin long enough to sit down for a bit of lunch and a cup of tea before heading out for another session within Kyra’s Refuge. Sabal didn’t state it openly but he knew Ajay’s thoughts were weighing heavily upon his shoulders, some of which had been spurred on by the check up that morning. His demeanor had shifted, not by much but it was enough for Sabal to recognize and take note of. They spent a few hours in meditation but Ajay’s mind was too busy, too distracted for it to work. They burned some incense and tried several different breathing exercises but nothing would take. They ended up leaving before nightfall with a bit of disappointment in their expressions. Sabal wasn’t disappointed in Ajay though the younger man appeared to take it that way, further beating himself up for the failed session. “It doesn’t work all the time.” Sabal explained. “Even I have my off days where distractions are more prominent than peace.”

 

Ajay heaved a heavy sigh, giving a nod of understanding but didn’t say anything more. When they returned to the cabin, Ajay went to bed without dinner, even declining the offered tea Sabal had made. He watched as the younger man curled up into his corner of the bed, his back turned to the rest of the room, jacket tucked close as extra protection or defense from the outside world.

  
  
  
  


Sabal had stirred from his sleep by the shifting weight of the other at his side. His weary green orbs opening to watch the shadow of his counterpart as he shifted his sneakers on with ease and crept out the front door. He appeared to have been in a rush, not stopping to consider anything else to take with him. Sabal pushed himself up, slipping his boots on to quickly follow. The night was warm, the moon was bright high above, outlining the terrain below in pale shadows, permitting the perfect visibility to those navigating the wilds below. It didn’t take long for Sabal to catch a glimpse of Ajay’s turquoise jacket receding over the hills, going past Banapur. The sea foam coloring taking on a silvery hue in the moonlight as he carried on. He didn’t seem very aware or alert as Sabal followed, his paces were swift and measured, mindful to stay quiet in the process, mirroring the way Ajay’s own body moved. A predatory prowl, like a leopard stalking through the bush after a sambar. It was all coiled muscle and precision.

 

The guards around the village were unaware of Ajay’s presence as the younger man easily avoided and navigated past the patrols like he had done this a hundred times. He knew every movement, had observed their patterns so many times he didn’t even need to pay attention or count the seconds anymore between their back and forth pacing. It wasn’t long before they had cleared the mountain terraces, the green buds of crops sprouting from the soil. They made it to the road leading away from the village, taking the curve a ways down towards the lake below. About halfway down that, Ajay turned the opposite direction of the pyres and instead followed the curve of the lake, trailing along the shore.

 

Sabal lingered in the shadows when Ajay reached the end of the lake, the cliff edge looming over the water, cutting him off where he stood. His eyes scanned the water’s surface for any disruptions, the moonlight reflecting in it, a phantom presence that added an eerie glow to the crisp clean water. Without further prompting, he started to undress. His gloves first, then his jacket and then his shoes. His jeans were tossed atop the pile, the clothing folded haphazardly before he removed the dark shirt from his torso. His toes curling into the damp soil of the shoreline, feeling the cool blades of grass brush against his feet before he started wading into the shallows.

 

Sabal knew the dangers that lurked in the Kyrati waters, seeing Ajay enter them so easily without a weapon to defend himself with, spurred him to his feet. He neared the lake shore just as Ajay reached hip deep. His arms stretched out before him as he submerged himself beneath the water surface. Even amidst the hottest summer days, the lake water was a freezing sensation to go all in. He tensed, searching the surface for any signs of distress. The only trails left to show where Ajay was, were the subtle ripples and the shadow that moved languidly through the flow. It was sluggish in it’s progress, so much so that it couldn’t be any sort of fish. Ajay surfaced for a moment, taking in a few deep lungfuls of air before he sank back under the water and continued his leisurely swim. It was apparent by about the third time Ajay surfaced, that Sabal realized he was purposely pushing himself to his limit of how long he could hold his breath. Each time his breathing seemed more strained from holding, gasping in frantic breaths before sucking in, chest expanding as much as it could then going back under.

 

By about the fifth time he surfaced, he rose from the shallows, walking towards the shoreline with shaky steps. The water droplets falling from his dark shaggy locks, the moonlight at his back casting shadows over his features. His eyes were dark, distant as he sank down to the grassy bank, kneeling beside his belongings as he rolled over into the grass, his back pressed against the earth and his face illuminated by the silvery rays. His eyes remained closed as he sucked in deep shuddering breaths. It wasn’t until the choked sound that Sabal realized what was happening. He felt the urge to approach the younger man, to console him and reassure him but Ajay obviously didn’t want him knowing about this. He was lucid enough in his actions, aware enough that he wasn’t a danger to himself.

 

It took quite a bit of effort, but the rebel tore himself away from the scene, receding back into the woods. He hesitated long enough to cast a pitying glance back, finding Ajay curled up on his side, back to the woods as he worked through whatever was going on. He could only trust that the younger man would return to the cabin tonight, hopefully in a better state then he was now.


	13. Far From Home

Ajay found himself sitting before the Kyra statue in the cave once more. It was at Sabal’s urging that they give meditation another try, despite the previous failure. So now, with incense swirling around him and the dim glow of the candles dancing around the altar, he focused on the even pacing of his breathing. He let the world around him melt away as the tendrils of his mind snagged at him, letting the shadows pluck and pull his presence, twisting and knotting it up as it pleased. He released all control over the process, allowing it to happen. Sabal had mentioned before their session that Ajay’s failure to reach his meditative state was due to him fighting himself. He had to relieve the inner conflicts of his consciousness in order to face those within his subconscious. It was a terrifying idea, knowing what his mind was capable of but he willed it all away.

 

With it, came peace and silence, the flow of the air around his body syncing with each slow breath, stirring with every exhale. All other sensations had quieted, letting his thoughts drift like smoke on the wind and dissipate. With absence came presence. A familiar voice rising in the darkness. “Brother.” It spoke, firmly and directly. It pulled at him, attempting to provoke him into action. Into a response but Ajay didn’t allow it. The voice growled, giving a sharp bark. _“Son of Mohan!”_

 

It took everything Ajay had not to flinch at those words. To turn a blind eye and ignore their formation curling at the back of his mind. It further displeased the voice, urging it on to try harder. Ajay felt hands mingling through his hair, fingers playing across his shoulders, familiar and feather light. Every touch from calloused fingers danced across the bare spots on his neck, eliciting shivers along his skin. His jaw clenched as he shook it away, attempting to ignore it again. Another sharp growl, like a frustrated beast batting at prey just out of reach. The fingers in his hair tightened their grip, tugging a little firmer, drawing shocks of pain in his scalp. He bared a hiss, stifling it as he bit his lip, wiping away the scowl that threatened to form on his features. The presence seemed to have enough as it jerked his head back, teeth sinking into his shoulder.

 

Ajay cursed loudly, whirling on the figure as bloodied lips pulled up into a pleased smile, wagging their fingers playfully. It wore the same old familiar face, emerald orbs dulled over, the edges glinting like a freshly sharpened blade. The proud strides as it circled him, drawing a thumb over it’s bottom lip and dragging the blood dampened digit across it’s tongue in a seductive manner. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ignore your betters?”

 

Ajay scoffed rubbing the mark on his shoulder with a sore grunt. His eyes following the being, never wavering from it’s presence now, something it thrived in knowing. “What do you want?” He blanched, giving an annoyed huff as the being clicked it’s tongue in disappointment. It wasn’t supposed to be that easy and it was intent on making it so.

 

“So rude.” It teased, it’s tongue snaking over its lips to clean up the rest of the blood. Ajay’s expression was far from amused, causing it to heave a sigh. “You’re really no fun, Ajay.” It flickered to something more prominent, the words teasing at a different voice. The dark features of the Rebel twisted up to resemble the more flamboyant charm of Kyrat’s former King. It waved it’s hand into a wishy washy manner as it approached him, a dominating stride that lingered on disturbingly hungry. Without warning, it’s fingers rose to grip his neck, a tight hold that threatened to choke, making it only a fraction harder to breath as it gave a low growl into his ear. “The real question here, is what do _you_ want?”

 

Ajay scowled at the man, his eyes leveled on the other’s gaze as his hand rose to grip the wrist at his throat. His voice was rougher, his airway constricted just enough to make his speech a little harder to form. “Enough games.” He growled. “I want you out of my head.”

 

The figure clicked their tongue, a shake of the head with further disappointment. It released his throat and turned away with purposeful strides, thoughtful as it paraded around the chamber. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Ajay.” It moved closer, a hand resting on the younger’s shoulder as it worked its way around behind him. The hands pressing down on the coarse hardened muscles, an attempt to massage the tension away with firm motions.

 

“Why is that?” Ajay replied, figuring he was this far in, he might as well bite. Anything to get a step closer to ending this madness. He was sick and tired of these mind games. Of not being able to distinguish truth from lies. The reality or the hallucinations.

 

There was a tired sigh that sounded far too heavy at his back. The hands ceased their motions, giving a small squeeze, almost pitiful in comparison to their previous strength. As the figure moved around to his point of view, the color drained away from his features. Dark lifeless eyes stared back at him, the hands resting on his shoulders felt more like they needed to be there just to keep standing and not so much for the sake of physical contact. The dark shaggy hair was matted out, a disheveled mess framing sickly features, sunken dips and curves in the once prominent cheekbones and jawline. The shoulders sagged, too tired by the looks of the shadows beneath the eyes, to keep them up. The posture was slouched forward, head hanging as his own voice met the air. “Because I’m you.” The figure spoke up, a haunting sound in the quiet. The room seemed to drop to an eerie chill, the silence was far too thick, too maddening for him to withstand but he didn’t have the strength to break it himself.

 

“It was always you in the end.” The voice continued, hands drawing away, the phantom reflection stumbling back weakly as it melted into the shadows. The candles blew out, descending the room into total darkness. When it returned, he found himself standing before the shrine at the Palace, Lakshmana’s photo staring back at him, the smile of such warmth and purity forming a pit of guilt in his stomach.

 

His hands reached out towards the urns resting at peace but paused, finding his fingers drenched in blood, dripping and soaking into everything around him. His mother’s words, her voice dancing around him, an echo of regret. _“The truth is, Kyrat was always going to change you.”_

 

Ajay turned when fingers brushed across his cheek, a fleeting warmth of skeletal hands whittled away with illness, so fragile and weak. His eyes widened as the phantom glimpse faded out before he had a chance to face it, just shreds of shadows wrapping around him, pulling him forward until he dropped to his knees. The floor smeared in blood, spattered across the walls and his own clothing. A trail of bodies littering the floor, rising up to literal stacks, piling higher and higher. Men and women, some were even children. Bodies of civilians, soldiers and hostages alike, all caught up in the dredges of war. People he tried to save, people who he had killed, some by his own hand and others by the recklessness of his actions. People with their throats slit clean across by the blade of their executioners. Amita’s Loyalists and Royal Army soldiers were among them.

 

The faces of Golden Path members who were foolish enough to come to his aid and die by his failure to act in time mingling with the hollow death masks of Pagan’s followers. Noore’s body, ripped apart and brutalized by teeth and claws lying beside Yuma’s butchered form, lying limp in a pool of blood. One of which slithered towards him, seeping out and gathering into a rushing river with all the rest. It bubbled up around his feet, soaking into his sneakers as it mounted higher and higher, filling in the cavern like waves at high tide. He struggled to get out, the warm liquid swirling around his knees, making his steps sluggish as it cooled and congealed. Hands grappled as his body, bony, decaying, rotting as they dragged him back. Voices echoing in his mind, calling out to him for help. Calling his name, screaming it, crying, begging, pleading. Some were in fear, terrified of him and his presence, some were out of desperation, hoping he had come to save them but like all the rest, he had failed them.

 

“I-I didn’t want this.” Ajay cried out, struggling towards the entrance of the cave as the current pressed him forward, slamming into his back. He felt the fluid sucking him in, every step was another sinking weight like quicksand rising up around him. Every attempt at getting free or moving forward was a slow descent into the rising crimson tide. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

“You should have known better. Your actions have consequences Ajay.” The voice plucked at the back of his mind, pulling at him, stalling his efforts as the strength drained from his body. His struggles ceased as it rose up around him, swallowing him up. The weight was suffocating, pinning him in on all sides, constricting his torso with every gasping breath. His breathing grew more frantic, harder and more panicked. He felt a hand on his body, a gentle touch to his shoulder sliding up to his face, warmth against the cold that swelled around him. His lips parted in another gasp, head tilting back to find what little oxygen he could before he was drowning beneath the liquid. Fingers found their way on both sides of his face, a firm hold that cupped his head, holding him still.

 

“You must find forgiveness within yourself.” The new voice was careful, a melody drifting between the anguished chants and screams of the others. His eyes closed as he inhaled another sharp breath, feeling a pressure against his chest, warmth radiated from the firm surface, spreading throughout, thawing his presence. It expanded and constricted at a measured pace as the hands released his face and moved to wrap around his body. A firm embrace that captured him but wasn’t too tight. Just a sensation strong enough to keep him grounded. To feel out the pace. With every breath he fought for control, working to keep in sync with the presence. A hand at his back traced slow calming circles, keeping the same rhythm as the breaths.

 

He felt the tides slow and begin to depart. The voices that were so loud in his ears had faded so all he could hear was his own heart beat. The frantic thundering had settled with time, steadying itself to a calm thump. “What’s done is done.” He murmured to himself, his hands clenching slowly into fists before relaxing, repeating this action over and over. “It can’t be unwritten but it can be corrected.” He reminded himself of the universal balance the monk at Chal Jama mentioned. The scales of karma that affects the world and his own views. He can correct wrong with good, but not forgetting the wrong that had been done. To learn and evolve and honor it as a step forward to betterment.

 

He let these thoughts swell around him, bubbling up like spring water and cleanse him. He was able to lose himself in these thoughts, letting go of the ties that held him to the shadows of his past transgressions, urging himself forward, to the good he was doing now. The people he was helping and the progress that Kyrat was showing. So much was happening in the country, so much good was going on while he was still navigating himself out of the war. The people had moved on, were living, thriving and recovering. They were smiling again, excited in their everyday lives, no longer fearing for their safety.

 

When Ajay finally pulled himself from his meditative state, he felt as if a weight had evaporated from his shoulders, leaving his body feeling light and airy. It was euphoric, resembling much the same as the drugs he’s tried out with Reggie and Yogi, only this was no smoking required. No sketchy injections either. When his gaze met the warm green orbs, there was a brief moment that spread between them of silent understanding. Ajay hadn’t realized the smile that had settled on his lips, or the change that had formed in his expression. Even the tension in his facial muscles had gone away, allowing him to breath more easily and see more clearly, the world around him. This included the darkness that had claimed the entrance outside, cast in a soft glow of moonlight peeking through the clouds. They had over extended their stay but by the looks of it, Sabal approved and Ajay felt like he was finally making ground again. When everything else seemed to be dragging him back and uprooting his process, he felt he had finally reached a successful milestone in all this.


End file.
